The Fourth Champion
by petitpiaf
Summary: Instead of Harry Potter's name, Hermione Granger's is pulled out of the Goblet of Fire. And with that, the year can never be the same. (HGxCDxVKxFD)
1. Chapter 1

"Hermione Granger."

The collective hall holds its breath for one beat, then two, and then chaos breaks the silence. Whispers, and some not-whispers, ripple across the tables. A hundred sets of eyes turn to face Hermione's white face.

Everything after that happens in a blur. Harry and Ron's faces stand out—well, their shocked eyes, at least—but everyone else's just disappear into the background. She doesn't even realize she'd moved until she finds herself in the waiting room with the other champions. Three tall, older, champions.

"Do you 'ave a message for us?" Fleur Delacour asks. Her long blonde locks are tossed, gracefully, behind her shoulder.

"No, I—I, uh, the headmaster will explain," Hermione stumbles out. Inwardly, she feels like slapping herself. She never stumbles over her words!

Ten minutes later and the matter is explained, three dark, angry looks are thrown her way, and a litany of curses from all adults in the room has ensued. Hermione tries to shrink into the corner, to block out everyone around her. When that doesn't work, she decides on a new strategy.

"Excuse me," Hermione says. She's ignored. No one seems to hear her.

" _Excuse_ me," she repeats. A dozen pairs of angry eyes are now on her. She gulps, but straightens her spine.

"I know this is unorthodox, but I would be happy to swear an oath promising I did not, and did not ever plan to, put my name in the Goblet. Furthermore, there must be some legal clause in the rulebook that prevents a minor from competing. I'm barely fourteen, for Merlin's sake! So you see, I _can't_ be in this tournament."

By the end of her speech, she recognized, dimly, that her voice had taken on a vaguely hysterical edge. _That must convince them_ , she thought.

When Professor Dumbledore turned those accusatory eyes on her, and Ludo Bagman blustered his way through an explanation why they could not possibly take an oath from a fourteen-year-old ( _never mind_ , Hermione thought pettily, _they want me to compete in a tournament that's far more dangerous than a little oath!_ ), she knew there was no way, at least this moment, to escape.

She looked around the room. Her eyes caught three other pairs on her.

The lightest, a sweet, baby blue—that now looked icy and cold—met Hermione's own plain brown eyes boldly, fearlessly. Fleur Delacour, resident veela and possibly the prettiest girl she had ever seen. Hermione quickly glanced away, but her gaze skittered right to another pair of eyes—this time dark, almost black, and deep-set underneath a pair of imposing brows. Viktor Krum, the quidditch star. His face gave nothing away as he stared at her. Here, too, she was forced to look away first, only to find her eyes on the nicest hazel eyes that made all the witches at Hogwarts swoon. Cedric Diggory, who she'd never had much contact with, but was watching her confusedly.

Hermione had had enough. All these people staring at her, and talking about her, and nothing being resolved. She was _not_ going to sit here and wait for a solution when she could go and find one herself. It was clear nobody here was on her side.

She stood, and cleared her throat. Unlike last time, all those eyes swivelled to her immediately. "If we're all done here," she looked pointedly to the huddled adults in the corner, "I'm leaving." She couldn't even come up with a good excuse.

And then, quite ungracefully, she turned and stomped out the room.


	2. Chapter 2

"I know you didn't do it, 'Mione," Harry said, once she had returned to the common room. His green eyes were open, honest, and Hermione believed him immediately. Of course he would believe her. He _was_ the unfortunate victim of so many unusual things, after all. _Really, if anyone ought to be in her place right now, it was him_ , she thought with a snort.

"Oh, Harry," she said, " _thank_ you. You've got no idea what those idiots in charge are saying. I've got to compete! Not one of them even _glanced_ at the rulebook. That's where I'm going now, actually. To the library to find a loophole myself. I mean, if it's alright with you. Can I borrow your invisibility cloak for tonight?"

With that, she took a deep breath. Harry smiled at her, gently.

"Merlin, Hermione, of course you can have it. I'd join you, but I think we both know how awful I am at research. Just get some sleep tonight, yeah?"

Hermione smiled. She told him thank you, and before anyone else could come in and disrupt the temporary calm, she swept out with the cloak.

The library was silent, of course. The wards protecting it were painfully easy to dismantle (a skill she learned out of necessity, those years ago, while she was researching the basilisk) and she snuck in with none the wiser. If she was lucky, she'd sneak out that way, too.

The hours passed dreadfully quickly. An expert on pulling all-nighters, Hermione used all the strategies in her toolkit. Different studying and note-taking techniques, multiple cups of tea, a couple short naps, and three hovering, magical timers all kept her on track. She had some previous experiences with wizarding world law, thanks to her forays into the law books for Buckbeak, but the tournament was an entirely new battlefield.

But by sunrise, she had found nothing. A binding contract! Merlin, how could the adults be so dense as to include one that doesn't require conscious approval? And, unfortunately, it would be incredibly difficult to break. She might be able to do it, of course, but she'd need the expertise of a curse-breaker, a lawyer, a goblin, and certainly the support of whoever had written and certified the contract most recently (ie; Dumbledore, most likely, who already made it clear he wasn't on her side). She could try and create a new contract, as well, to protect her from this one, but magic involving contracts like this was finicky and she didn't want to risk the loss of her magic (and, by extension, life) should she fail. And she briefly wondered about tampering with the Goblet, which was what her classmates all accused her of doing, but even _she_ was hesitant to interfere with a magical artefact like that.

As sunlight began to filter through the dusty panes, Hermione stood, and felt her back arch and crack. She knew she wouldn't stop researching a way to get out of the tournament, of course, but it was time to switch her priorities to a new target: staying alive in this god-forsaken thing.

Breakfast the next morning was miserable, as expected. Estranged from her own house (who didn't like her all that much before, anyway, Hermione was forced to acknowledge, if only to herself), she sat by herself at the end of the table, with Harry next to her. She suspected he was acting as a shield for the more physically-inclined of their house, and for that, she appreciated him. Loved him, even, as the brother she never knew she wanted. But she knew telling him would make him far too uncomfortable. Hermione, unlike Harry, was candid with her feelings. But who could blame Harry, with that poor excuse for a family he lived with? At least now he had Sirius.

She tried to make eye contact with Ron a few times, but quickly gave up after he pointedly refused to look in her direction. _Prat_ , she thought, but his actions still stung. She knew they weren't as close as he and Harry, but all their adventures, all those years… she'd hoped that would mean something.

Evidently not.

When it was time for class, Hermione swung her bag up and stood, Harry by her side. He smiled at her, and then, in the next instant, cast a shield charm to block a jinx that fizzled out as soon as it touched his shield. It looked like it came from the Hufflepuff table. Harry glared, but Hermione tugged him away.

"Not now," she whispered. He nodded, and they hastily made their way out of the Great Hall.

Class followed much in the same suit. Luckily, she had Harry to sit next to her, but the glares she received made it evident that she wouldn't have anyone next to her if Harry weren't there.

In Transfiguration, McGonagall refused to call on Hermione. In Charms, Flitwick only took questions, not answers, in an attempt to dissuade Hermione from putting her hand up. She did anyway, of course, but the snickers behind her kept it down after that.

"Just look at her," one girl to her left muttered, "of course she wants the glory of the tournament. What swot would resist a challenge like that?"

"She can't help but brag," the girl's partner, a boy, returned, "buck-toothed know-it-alls are like that."

"It's not like she could attract any attention with her _looks_ , anyways," another girl snickered in the hallway.

"Uppity mudblood," Blaise Zabini sneered at her.

"Ugly know-it-all," Pansy Parkinson lobbed.

Between the name-calling, the hexes, the jinxes, and the shoves, Hermione was through with all of it by the end of her first day. Lucky it was Thursday, and the next was Friday, and then she could hide all weekend. Slytherins were never nice to her, of course, and she'd withstood more than a few insults since childhood, but now they had the backing of the entire school—schools. It wasn't just Slytherins shooting her nasty looks and not-so-subtle tripping jinxes.

The other champions, of course, either didn't notice or didn't care. She caught Diggory looking at her, once, but when she turned his way, he made some comment (about her, she was certain) and his Hufflepuff friends laughed.

Hermione finally sank into her bed, restless, exhausted, after the long day. But she immediately shot up with a shriek. Blood dotted her back and buttocks. Pins! In her bed! Of all the juvenile, silly, nasty things to do… Hermione growled. But even as she felt her hands ball into a fist, her eyes filled with tears. She normally wasn't a crier, but the idiotic prank, coupled with her lack of sleep à la all-nighter, and her long, disappointing day—she felt the tears fall freely as she banished the few pins she found and pulled her curtains closed. She threw up a silencing charm before giving in to her sobs.

Everything was unfair, all of it. What had she ever done to deserve not just the tournament, but her classmates' hate as well? She had worked hard for everything she had. Their respect, their kindness. She never told the boys, but she had heard more than one sneered _mudblood_ from her housemates when she first moved into Gryffindor. She earned her right to be there, to be part of this wonderful magic that happened at Hogwarts. And now this stupid tournament was taking it all away!

Hermione's throat felt raw and sore by the time she sat up in her bed. A brief _tempus_ told her it was almost 11:30. Crookshanks hopped onto her bed, and she rubbed behind his ears absentmindedly.

 _Enough with the pity party_ , she thought. _You have work to do. You're going to survive this tournament, and- and, not only that, you're going to show them what this ugly, buck-toothed, mudblood can do!_


	3. Chapter 3

After her little pity party, Hermione woke early Friday with a decidedly determined air about her. She would do what she had to do, as usual, and get out of it alive, also as usual. Nobody in this school, save maybe Harry Potter and Ron Weasley, had gotten in more scrapes than she had! She hummed as she tugged her hair into a braid, deep in thought.

What did she need to make it out of this tournament alive? Intellectual capital was a given, of course, and Hermione liked to think she had that in spades—but now that she was competing against students with approximately three years' worth of knowledge on her, she was less confident about her abilities. She brushed that thought off impatiently. Nothing to be done about it, after all, beyond the hard work she was already bound to put in.

Human capital would also be helpful—that is, the support of more of her peers. If she found older students willing to help her, that would also boost her intellectual capital.

Hermione frowned to herself. There were no manuals for all the kinds of support she would need in a situation like this. Or the kinds of strategies she ought to use. Like any self-respecting muggleborn attending Hogwarts, she had already read Sun Tzu's _The Art of War_ and Carnegie's _How to Win Friends and Influence People_. There were wizarding equivalents, of course (Barry Boltimus' _Witches' Guide to Persuading Wizards_ was the closest match she could find, to her disgust), but wizards simply were no match for muggle psychologists or even strategists. There were brilliant magical strategists, of course (Dumbledore came to mind, here), but the sheer quantity of muggles meant the quantity of information discovered was greater. Pity the magical community didn't know all this; there was a lot they could learn.

When she made her way downstairs to meet Harry, she told him she was confident she could make the best of the situation. After all, surely not the entire school abhorred her already, right? So she decided to look for allies. When she told him her plan ("Any friend is a potential mine of knowledge, Harry! Who knows what might save my life?") he agreed to split up for the day and cover more ground reaching out to others. At the very least, this could be a good start.

Hogwarts students were obviously a no-go. She could determine this as soon as she entered the Great Hall. The glares alone were enough to put her off her food, except for that she noticed some of the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang students seemed indifferent rather than outright hateful. There—that would be her strategy!

Hermione, if not particularly proficient at making friends, knew her way around basic muggle psychology. It never paid to be ignorant, after all, and wizards had almost no equivalent in their world. So she began complimenting Beauxbatons girls on their robes, asked a few Durmstrang boys for small favors, smiled, made eye contact a little longer than necessary. It paid off. Not always, but enough she had leads. Plans.

One girl in light blue had the nicest red hair Hermione had ever seen. So she told her, right in the hallway, ten minutes before Charms was about to begin. Everyone else in the hallway ignored her, but the redheaded girl turned, slowly, and smiled. All her teeth showed, but Hermione was too excited with her first success to care.

"Oh, you like my 'air, do 'ou?" The girl asked.

Hermione nodded as the girl took a step closer. "Oui, c'est tres belle," Hermione stuttered in French. She spoke passably from all the summers her family visited there.

"You are ze cutest zing!" The girl exclaimed. "I zink I shall keep you for my own. What iz your name, ma minette?"

She blushed. Was this French girl _flirting_ with her? It couldn't be. Hermione knew she was bisexual, had always been open about it (in the muggle world, at least), but had never expected the kind of attention that came to girls much prettier than her. No, she wasn't flirting, Hermione decided. But she couldn't keep her heart from beating a little faster at the thought.

"…Hermione."

"Ah, 'Ermione. Would 'ou like to take a walk wiz me by ze lake?"

Hermione was about to open her mouth—though what she would say, she wasn't sure, since this was a potential ally but she had Charms in just a few minutes—when a blue-cloaked figure bumped roughly into the redhead that sent the girl tumbling down. Then the figure helped the redhead up, hissed a few French words in her ear, and walked away. The redheaded girl shot a sorry look in Hermione's direction before following the other girl.

 _That was strange_ , Hermione thought. _But not unusual. It's not unexpected Beauxbatons would close ranks around their champion_.

Her other leads turned out to be failures, as well. The Durmstrang boys who she'd talked to had disappeared in the span of a few hours. She couldn't seem to find them, and when she stumbled across one—Nikola, with the dimples—he just turned away from her with an apologetic glance. Seems they had closed ranks, too.

Did she have no allies? She knew Hogwarts students were all flocking to Cedric, but… well, she supposed it was unsurprising foreign students would do the same. She represented a threat, after all. Still. The whole situation stung.

By dinnertime, all her grand plans of collecting allies had turned to dust. Harry, too, had struggled, but at least he'd turned up with a whimsical, fairy-like Ravenclaw named Luna. Hermione was skeptical, at first, with all the girl's fictitious creatures, but as soon as they began discussing the different wards used to keep creatures at bay she knew she had found a friend. Luna seemed to have a way of looking at the world that was far different from most of her—and a skill like that could only be a blessing, in the end. Hermione knew she struggled with out-of-the-box thinking, so someone like Luna would be a good yin to her yang. Thank Merlin for Harry.

Though…said boy was busy watching the blonde girl with rather starry eyes, and he was unusually tongue-tied, so she supposed this girl wasn't just for her.

No matter—Harry deserved a little happiness, and she figured the blonde would be good for him. Both of them.


	4. Chapter 4

Hogsmeade weekend dawned dark and dreary and could only get worse, Hermione decided. Harry, though, was determined to drag her along, insisting that getting her out of the castle will do her some good. She didn't disagree, though her gut still prickled with warning. Less supervision on students who might want to harm her, after all. But Harry pleaded with his terrible green eyes and told her Luna will be meeting them there for lunch and Hermione just sighed. Who is she to get in the way of true love, after all? And it will be funny to watch Harry with her, at least.

She can't help but tease him on the way to the village, though. "So has Sirius heard anything about the future Mrs. Potter, yet?"

Harry flushes and narrows his eyes. "It's not like that," he grumps. Hermione just smirks.

"Not like what?" She asks, innocently.

"I just—she was just sitting alone, y'know? At her own house's table. Ravenclaw, and they just can't see she's brilliant, is all, and her hair, its—" And then he cuts himself off, looking down. "Shut up," he says.

Hermione just smirks and doesn't say anything. "I hope you'll tell Sirius about her soon," she says. And pauses. A little more kindly, she adds, "He might be able to help."

Harry smiles, and their walk to Hogsmeade finishes in silence. Upon their arrival, they agree to split up for the less interesting of each other's tasks—Scrivenshaft's, for Hermione, and Zonko's, for Harry—and to meet at The Three Broomsticks for lunch with Luna. Harry glances at her worriedly when they begin to split, but Hermione just gives him a thumbs up—which makes him smile, since their shared muggle heritage tends to make purebloods like Ron and Draco confused. Only other muggleborns understand the silly hand sign.

Hermione sets off for Scrivenshaft's Quill Shop purposefully. She pulled her cloak tighter around her shoulders to keep out the sharp winds around her. Not that it did much good.

Idly, she noticed how crowded it was this weekend. But then she remembered—Durmstrang and Beauxbatons students were experiencing their first Hogsmeade weekend. _Best just to stay out of everyone's way then_ , she thought.

Scrivenshaft's was a quick stop for Hermione. She already knew what she liked; Merlin knew she'd been there enough to memorize the entire store's inventory!

But on her way to the register, she bumped into Fleur Delacour—literally. Hermione was making her way down an aisle when the blonde girl stepped out from behind a tall display, sending both of them tumbling to the ground. Hermione apologized as a flush rose to her cheeks. She wasn't normally so clumsy. But Delacour, too, was blushing as Hermione scrambled to her feet and offered her a hand up. Delacour took it, and something sparked between them. For just a second, something soft appeared in Delacour's eyes, but then they narrowed a second after.

"Watch where 'ou are going, imbécile," the French girl snarled. "Tu me gonfles."

Hermione met her eyes. "Je m'en fou," she returned with equal ferocity. She waited only a moment to see Delacour's eyes widen before brushing roughly past her to the front counter. Merlin, that felt good!

Her bags packed, Hermione stepped outside back into the blistering cold. She paused only a moment before beginning the brief trek to Zonko's. She had finished much earlier than expected, after all, and she didn't particularly feel like waiting around at The Three Broomsticks.

But just outside Zonko's, she saw, unfortunately, a spot of red hair and a face full of freckles. He was laughing with some other boys in their year, and it seemed they were just leaving. She hoped Harry didn't run into them inside.

All thoughts of Harry vanished when Ron spotted her.

"Hey!" He shouted.

Hermione turned her head and pretended she didn't hear him. She didn't want to face him. Merlin, she hadn't a clue what to say.

"Hermione!" Ron shouted again.

Reluctantly, Hermione lifted her head to face him, desperately trying to block out the crowd that was rapidly forming.

"You couldn't resist it, could you?" Ron's face was flushed, his freckles boldly standing out on his pale skin. His eyes were glaring holes through her. "You couldn't resist showing everyone else up, the brilliant muggleborn who can do anything she wants!" A pause. "Except make friends!"

Hermione felt tears prickle her eyes even as her hands clenched. "I didn't enter, Ron. And if you were my friend, you'd know that!"

"Well, I'm not your friend—not anymore, not ever! Why would I want to be friends with such an ugly, cheating _swot_?"

"At least I'm still _brilliant_ , even without someone like _you_ dragging me down!" She couldn't think of anything else on the spot, but her words clearly hit home when Ron drew his wand.

"Who's doing your homework now, Ron? Are you failing your classes, yet?" She continued, deliberately ignoring the wand now in her direction. There were witnesses here. She was safe. Ish.

"Shut up, you, you—mudblood!"

Hermione gasped. So did a few other students in the crowd. She never thought he'd cross that line. He was in a family of so-called blood traitors! He was supposed to be on her side. She saw Dean subtly inch away from Ron. She lifted her chin.

Before she could speak, a slow drawl cut in. "Well, well, well," Draco began, emerging, like a snake, from the crowd, "never thought I would see the day a Weasley would use such an _abhorrent_ slur. Shame on you, Weasel!"

Ron flushed, and seemed to just realize the enormity of the word he used. "I didn't—" he began, but was quickly cut off.

"You did," Hermione said, eyes flashing, "and I, for one, am glad to finally see to sort of friends I _used_ to keep. Run along now, _Ronald_. Perhaps your new friend Malfoy might want to help you study."

At this, Malfoy and his cronies looked torn between snickering at Ron and hexing Hermione for, well, existing.

When Ron raised his wand, and opened his mouth to cast, Hermione froze. But another voice entered the fray. Smooth, deep, deceptively friendly—it seemed Diggory was ready to join the fight. But rather than pulling his wand on Hermione, he turned to Ron. His eyes were dangerously narrowed, and Hermione never thought she'd seen that… intense of a look on his face before.

"Ronald Weasley. Ten points from Gryffindor for disorderly conduct, and another twenty for using a slur against a fellow students," Diggory cut in coldly.

Before Ron could utter any protests, Diggory sent him away and disbanded the rest of the clustered students. Dean shot Hermione a sorry look over his shoulder as he left, and as much as it heartened Hermione that not _everyone_ was as bigoted as Ron, she couldn't help but remain lonely. But then Diggory turned towards her, and when their eyes met, something sparked inside of her… his eyes flickered over her form, presumably checking for injuries. But a moment later, Diggory nodded, turned, and strode away, leaving her feeling more than a little confused. Hermione sighed and went inside to meet Harry.

Harry, luckily, hadn't tussled much with Ron besides calling him a prat, which, Hermione supposed, was the best she could've asked for. But he was infuriated when he learned what Ron called her.

"I don't _care_ , 'Mione, nothing you said should've let him call you that! Ron and I—well, even if I could forgive him for everything else, and you could, too, this is the final line. We're better off without that tosser."

Hermione flung her arms around Harry. "Oh, Harry," she sighed, "Thank you! I didn't want to end your friendship with Ronald, but—"

"You did nothing to end it," Harry cut her off. "That was all him."

Hermione smiled, even though she privately disagreed. The things she'd said had been pretty cruel, after all. But she was just glad to have Harry remain by her side. Maybe she was selfish to be glad he picked her over Ron, his first friend. But she didn't care.

They made their way to the Three Broomsticks, both quite ready for something warm to stave off the cold and loosen their tensed muscles. Upon entering, they spotted Luna already inside with a mug of butterbeer clasped between her hands. Her pale hair was loose and curly, falling down her back, and her wand was tucked behind one ear. Her jumper seemed to be made of at least sixteen kinds of yarn, and her boots had little painted birds all over them. Hermione glanced over to Harry; he looked enchanted.

Lunch with Luna was, overall, good. She kept Hermione's mind from straying toward her encounters from earlier in the day, and for that, she was grateful. The girl just seemed to _know_ when to change the subject, or what to say to get Hermione passionately involved in whatever disagreement was happening. And best of all, she was entirely oblivious to Harry's love-struck gaze. It was nice.

Hermione decided to return to Hogwarts a little early, to give Harry and Luna a bit of time to themselves. Not that either knew that, of course. Merlin, she was turning into a romantic! She picked up her cloak and muttered something about studying before ducking out onto the street.

The walk back to Hogwarts was peaceful. It was the afternoon, and it seemed the clouds had temporarily cleared to let a little sunlight filter through. Even the wind had let up a little, and just a light breeze was left to rustle through her curls. Hermione's shoulders loosened, and her steps became slower.

 _This is it_ , she thought. _This is all I want. Just… to bask_. Glancing surreptitiously around, she waiting until she was just a few minutes outside the castle gates before stepping off the path. Her boots squelched in the mud, wet from last night's rain. But it didn't matter. Everything was green, and once she cast a warming charm, it would feel like spring.

Hermione conjured a thick picnic blanket and swept it over a patch of grass. She pulled out a book, too, but after laying down on the blanket for a minute, the warmth from her charm and the glistening, filtered sunlight forced her to put it down. She soaked in the quiet, the ease. And before she knew it, her eyes fluttered shut, and she fell asleep.

Much later, she will wonder how she woke up in time to return to the castle. Just luck, probably. (She didn't see the three conflicted sets of eyes watching her from a distance, after having experienced their _own_ foray into the woods—and she certainly didn't see the subtle tickling charm sent towards her side to wake her up.)


	5. Chapter 5

Over the next week, Hermione got to work. She hadn't a clue what the first task would be, but she was determined she would be prepared for it. All she knew was that it would test her _daring_. So something dangerous, then.

She was a Gryffindor. She could handle dangerous.

So it probably meant a fight of some kind, or a risk she must take. Something that would legitimately scare the tournament coordinators, and, of course, the champions—each top of their class from three of the most prestigious schools in the world. They'd have to overcome their fears.

Boggarts? Dementors? But that seemed too tame. Something else, then.

But somewhat bitterly, she noticed the other champions often together, at the library or in the hallways. Once, she even saw them all taking a walk in the direction of the Forbidden Forest. And the worst was, they all looked friendly with each other. And they _matched_. It was enough to make her want to vomit a little. Delcaour and Diggory's golden looks often surrounded Krum in a haze of splendor. Or it would be Krum and Diggory on either side of Delacour, the line of heights almost perfectly symmetrical.

The first time Hermione noticed was in the hallway, where Diggory and Krum flanked Delacour, the two slightly taller males each holding one of the veela's arms and _smiling_. Hermione froze when she saw them, because it was a Tuesday, and the first time she saw _proof_ they all got along. Delacour's eyes caught hers, which caused the pretty blonde to turn and whisper something in Diggory's ear, which caused him to let out a brief, harsh laugh. Krum just remained and stared at her with those dark, foreboding eyes. Hermione turned tail and ran (well, she would argue she walked, but Harry wouldn't let her lie to him, much less herself) in the opposite direction.

Delacour laughed behind her, high and lovely and mocking. Hermione didn't look back.

But besides those little, minor, inconsequential (" _Honestly_ , Harry, they're just ignorant and petty! They don't matter!") incidents, Hermione spent all her time in a classroom or the library. Since she knew the task would be dangerous, she focused her efforts on complex, powerful shielding spells for every possible occasion. She had an empty classroom that Harry would help her practice in by throwing hexes and curses at her while she shielded. Her _protego_ soon became lightning-fast (and good thing, too, since her fellow students weren't letting up on her in the least).

But by the second week of her research, she came across the perfect spell. Well, rune sequence. Well, if she were to be entirely honest, it was a _very_ questionable gray ritual that even aurors might find concerning if they ever found out. But this tome was buried so far back Hermione doubted anyone else would be able to name it should they find out what she was doing.

Furthermore, tournament laws decreed that each citizen was subject to the ICW's laws, not their own country's—and international laws which were historically loose and full of loopholes. This tournament, luckily, was one of the very few circumstances where the ICW's laws were in effect. In essence, that meant Hermione could use practically anything but the Unforgivables in this task. Not that she would, of course. She already was alienated by half the school; no need to throw in teachers and politicians as well, despite their current chilly disregard.

The ritual involved blood, which is why it might be classified as dark. But it also created a shield, an act that was usually deemed light. And, if she was correct, it would delicately peel back a single layer of space for her to slip inside and hide. _Bloody brilliant_ , in Harry's words. Hermione tucked the knowledge towards the back of her mind and kept searching.

She briefly looked into wards, as well, since she had a little experience dismantling the (admittedly incredibly easy) one from the library, but gave it up only a few hours into her research. Wards took far too much time and concentration to put up efficiently, and Hermione doubted she'd need something as long-lasting as a ward—in terms of protection, shields were far more efficient.

Offensive spells would be handy, too, of course, but not fully necessary if she was careful not fight, attack, or otherwise incite whatever they would be facing. So she only mastered a few: bombarda, diffendo, accio, and aqua eructo. Enough to fire and then have some time to throw up a shield, her _real_ weapon. She hoped that would be sufficient.

But with the tournament rapidly approaching, Hermione became more and more nervous about her own strategy. What if she had to fight the other champions? _Merlin_ , what if a legion of inferi were set after them? What if they were battling creatures in the Forbidden Forest, or dementors, or the giant squid? Or other students? Professors? What if she had to steal something, or kill something? Do some heroic act, like jumping off a cliff or riding a dragon? Her mind, usually her most valuable weapon, was, she realized, turning into the enemy. She could feel her shoulders hunching, the circles under her eyes deepening every night. She felt like a ghost in her own castle.

A few days before the first task, Hermione rounded a corner only to hear urgent, muffled voices.

"Does she know?" a light, male spoke. Hermione blinked… that sounded unusually familiar… A boy, a boy she knew… She almost gasped; that was Diggory!

A pause. Hermione strained her ears.

"I didn't tell 'er," the feminine voice—Delacour—said. Were they talking about her?

"I did not." _Must be Krum_ , Hermione thought.

"Do you think we should…?" Diggory trailed off.

"Is too late. And she is friends with Potter boy, yes? He is vith Hagrid often, must know." Krum said. Oh, they were _definitely_ talking about her.

Hermione crept away before they could catch her. Or, worse, before she walked up and punched them in their pretty, perfect noses.

 _They know something about the task_ , she thought. She knew she ought to be horrified, but couldn't find it in herself to care. Her senses were dulled from the cold outside and the fear that had long since dissipated into a gloomy sort of acceptance. She normally abhorred cheaters of any kind, but, well, she was the cheater this time, right? At least in their mind. Maybe they thought they were levelling the playing field. Maybe they really did think she knew, as unfair as that was. Or maybe they just wanted to see her so embarrassed, so humiliated, it'd give them some mad sense of vindication for her ruining their tournament.

Short of walking up and demanding answers, there was nothing she could do.

As usual.

Hermione went to bed that night restless, as usual. She had vowed to spend the last few days before the task catching up on sleep, but her mind wouldn't shut off. Only when Crookshanks arrived, and kneaded her thighs into numbness, did she finally drift off.


	6. Chapter 6

The day of the first task dawned a gloomy, dreary day, which Hermione would think was fitting if she wasn't so bloody _exhausted_. Harry was at her side practically since she stepped out of her room, shoveling toast and eggs down her throat as if his life depended on it. He was worried, she knew, but was doing his best not to show it. She appreciated that, and rested her head on his shoulder. Normally she might not've displayed her emotions so obviously, but right now she was tired and needed all the support she could get. Harry understood, and wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her in. She was never so grateful for him. The babble in the hall seemed to get louder. Something crunched in the distance. Something snapped. Someone cursed. Right now, she can't bring herself to care.

After breakfast, Hermione is hustled away by an irritated-looking Professor McGonagall and brought to a tent in the Forbidden Forest. She's the last to arrive; the other champion's heads swivel towards the flap when she's ushered in. Three sets of scowls greet her and she mentally shrugs. She's faced each of those reactions and more over the past weeks, from enemies and former friends. These—these— _people_ can't do anything to her, she decides. She dons a cold look of her own and turns away.

It's chilly inside the tent, and she shivers. She hadn't brought a jacket. Hadn't thought she'd need one. But, she notices, eyeing the other champions, _they_ certainly knew. She meets Diggory's eyes, who certainly noticed her shiver, and he flushes, before looking away guiltily. A brief moment of triumph consumes her before it's broken when Ludo Bagman enters the tent in a dramatic swirl of robes. Hermione rolls her eyes. Krum seems to notice, and snickers. Huh.

Before she can think further on that, Bagman begins speaking.

"Welcome, champions! Inside this bag," here, he showed off a tan, worn drawstring bag that looked like nothing special, "are models of—well, what you'll be facing in the arena. You'll each pull one out of the bag, which will determine which one you'll each face. And they're numbered, which represents the number in which you'll compete. The rest of you must stay here until it's your turn. All the best, champions!"

And with that, Ludo Bagman held out his sack for the champions to draw from. Krum went first (it was tallest to shortest, apparently, which _so_ wasn't fair), and pulled out—oh, _Merlin_ —a Chinese Fireball, which she knows the name of, thanks to Bagman's excited chattering. Then Diggory grabs—a trend is forming—a Swedish Short-Snout. Delacour next, whose long fingers clasp around a Common Welsh Green. And then, oh, it's her turn, and Hermione pulls out tentatively, slowly, a Hungarian Horntail, the most dangerous. Well. This could be better. She only vaguely knows the name, since she didn't study, of course, dragons of all things! Only a cursory glance through a few texts on dangerous beasts.

"Merlin." Hermione says, in a heavy exhale. "We're facing dragons."

The others say nothing.

Her eyes roam upwards, scanning the others, and even Ludo Bagman has a look of pity on his face. She hardens her eyes. Delacour, Krum, and Diggory are all staring at her, their faces a little pale. Oh, right. They're just realizing she _wasn't prepared for bloody dragons_! Merlin's buggering bollocks, she wants to hex someone. She feels stiff. She feels… she doesn't know how she feels.

Ludo claps his hands. "Your task," he says, "is to steal the golden eggs from your dragon's nest. They're all nesting mothers, so their eggs are fake, but they certainly don't know that! Be warned—they'll be vicious protecting their eggs."

And with that, Ludo Bagman bounced out of their tent. Literally bounced. Hermione wanted to hex him. But she didn't. She was a controlled, rule-following, law-abiding witch, after all.

It would have to wait until after the task.

Hermione sat down heavily on one of the cushions in the room. She would be the last champion in the arena, which meant she had a little time to prepare. She'd feel bad for Diggory, honestly, for going first, if she wasn't certain he didn't already have a plan in mind. She stared at the model in her hands, doing her best to ignore the looks her fellow champions were shooting her.

A plan, a plan. She needed a plan. What did she know about dragons? Extraordinary smell, poor eyesight. Usually. Let's hope the Horntail follows trend. Horntails breathed fire. Big. Sharp claws, sharper teeth. Probably almost-impenetrable scales. Her memory, almost photographic, pulled up details she thought she had forgotten. The average length a mother dragon might carry her eggs for. The temperature of the Horntail's fire. The price its scales might sell for in Knockturn Alley. None of it was helpful in the least.

A shield. She needed a shield. Obviously. To mask her appearance and her smell. And only one was coming to mind. A shield that was stupidly powerful, and more than a little gray. She hadn't even done it before! All she needed was a knife. A knife, and twenty seconds to draw the runes and mutter the incantation. Something to transfigure into a knife. _Alright, she could do this_.

She heard cheering and realized Delacour was just returning with her egg. She must have missed Diggory's attempt, then. Delacour re-entered the tent with the bottom of robes smoldering, but looking otherwise none the worse for wear. Even her hair looked artfully messy, like she just climbed out of bed. This thought made Hermione flush, and she turned away, missing the quizzical—and guilty—glance the champion shot her way.

Krum exited next, and while he was gone, Hermione recited every single step for the ritual she was about to complete in her head—twice. She couldn't get a single word wrong. Every rune had to be perfect. And, of course, she had to remain standing upright and awake after it was completed.

Krum returned all too soon, a golden egg held protectively into his chest. He looked rather triumphant, for a second—but when his eyes landed on her, he began staring at her like he kicked her puppy—or worse, Crookshanks. She stood up, dusted off her robes, and, coldly, swept out of the tent when her name was called. Well, she stumbled a little while standing up, but hoped nobody noticed. They probably did, the prats.

Hermione entered the arena looking far more confident than she felt. Immediately, she spotted the Hungarian Horntail perched over a nest that was glinting with a single golden egg. _Bad eyesight, bad eyesight_ , Hermione chanted to herself. As long as she didn't move much and did it slowly, she'd be alright.

She bent down, and slowly picked up a loose stone. Immediately, she waved her wand and transfigured it into a knife. Before waiting to see if the dragon caught that movement ( _oh, Merlin, it was already facing in her direction—its nose, its nose!_ ), she dragged the knife down her left arm, beginning the rune sequence. She began to whisper rapid strings of latin; the spell would create the rift—pocket, really—in space, and the runes would allow her to pass into it. Blood trickled down her arm as she grit her teeth. Three runes on the left, three on the right. _A few shapes. A few little lines, and you'll be invisible until you scratch them out._ The runes on her right arm were harder, since her left was already stinging and throbbing and her bloody hand was slipping around the knife. But she finished, Merlin, she _finished_ , and just in time, too, since her blood had obviously exacerbated the dragon's sense of smell. Its muscles were bunching and tensing. It was time for her to disappear.

And she did. Right before the crowd's eyes, her body shimmered, became translucent, and faded out of view. Completely, entirely. It worked!

Hermione took a cautious step forward. She felt like she was slogging through water. That was what slipping into another layer of space did to a person, she supposed. But she had to hurry. Her energy was rapidly sapping, more than she liked, and so she used as much as she could to run—stumble, really—towards the nest. It wasn't long to get there, though it felt like forever. The crowd was cheering and booing simultaneously. She grabbed the egg, and held it to her chest—and, as she hoped, it flickered, momentarily, and disappeared right along with her. The crowd went wild. The Hungarian Horntail was prowling around the arena, hunting her. But it was alright. She began the slow run back to the tent, and snagged the transfigured knife she had dropped after drawing the runes. She burst into the tent, and threw the egg out of her pocket of space onto a cushion. That seemed to be the signal she was safe, and she only briefly heard an exuberant "And Miss Granger has got the egg! Without a _single_ scratch!" before she scratched a harsh line through each of the six runes and flickered back into the tent.

In the end, Hermione found that the points didn't matter to her at all. She was just too tired, and practically collapsed in the tent—and, embarrassingly, in Krum's lap—after the ordeal. She thought that was the first time she had ever seen the stoic man blush. Luckily, she stumbled away in time for one of the medics to catch her and bring her to the med tent.

Harry gleefully told her later that she had forty points, and was tied in first with Krum. She only lost points for being "too slow" or some such rot like that. Hermione smiled.


	7. Chapter 7

The egg, of course, was a riddle. Hermione usually loved riddles, ever since she was a child—it was a wonder she wasn't placed in Ravenclaw—but this one was infuriating her. A treacherous, tiny part of her wanted to let her forget about it, since she'd done alright on the first task without knowing anything. But she knew that this was important. Now that she was in the lead (well, sort of) she felt in inner competitiveness rising to the surface. She wanted to win, show them all what she could do. Not just impress them with fancy, flashy pieces of magic.

A week after the first task, when Hermione was sitting in the library, struggling (what else) to research her way out of the egg's secrets. A presence settled beside her, and she felt the hair on the back of her neck stand up. She twisted her neck, just a little, to see who sat next to to her— _Merlin, it better be Harry_ , she thought to herself—only to find herself staring into the dark eyes of Viktor Krum.

"Krum." Hermione said, flatly. It was mean, she knew, but she wanted to make it clear he wasn't welcome here.

"Herm-own-ninny." He returned. Not flat, but close. He sighed. "Am here to apologize. Ve should have told you. Vould have, if ve knew you did not know."

His eyes were dark. Too dark. Hermione searched them, hoping to find something—something honest, hopefully, something true—and found no lies in them. He wasn't lying. He certainly hadn't been kind, but he would've told her if he thought she was totally ignorant. She nodded to acknowledge his apology.

She turned back to her notes, and grabbed her pen to continue writing, when a large hand caught her forearm. She inhaled sharply, and turned. Krum's eyes were fastened on her arm and—oh, right. Her sleeve had stretched when she went to pick up her pen, and the rune scars, angry and pink, had shown.

She flushed and looked down. She didn't know why she was embarrassed. They kept her alive. But…they were ugly. That didn't—that didn't _matter_ , she knew, but she was a girl, after all, no matter _how_ people looked at her. And it wasn't like she needed anything _else_ to worsen her appearance. Her hair, her teeth, her height… that was enough.

She tugged her arm back, but Krum held tight. He pushed the rest of her sleeve up, examining them. Raido, for a journey. Hagalaz, for air and transformation. And Uruz, for power. And on her left, the arm he couldn't see, were Nauthiz, Thurisaz, and Algiz, all for protection. Basic runes, but when drawn in blood all on the same body, and were combined with a spell… well. The results spoke for themselves.

"Not a scratch, they said." Krum frowned.

"Not from the dragon," Hermione said.

"Healers… they did not help you?" Krum asked.

"No, I suppose they didn't. Self-inflicted doesn't count—tournament rules." This time it was Hermione's time to frown. She had passed out almost directly after the task, and had hardly noticed the runes afterwards. But if self-inflicted wounds couldn't be used to detract points, then she supposed the logic followed they couldn't be healed by tournament medical staff, either.

She was lost in her thoughts for a moment before she realized Krum was tugging, pulling her out of her seat. But his grip on her wrist was gentle.

"Hey," she exclaimed, "what are you doing? I have work to do, and these books—"

" No matter. Vill get you fixed up. Come."

Hermione worried her bottom lip for a moment, before following him. She didn't _think_ this was a trap, of course, but it might be best to remain on her guard just in case. She stashed her wand in her sleeve and played along while Krum walked her out of the library. Stormed out, more like. She wasn't sure why he was so angry, but perhaps she was pulling him away from his own studying? Maybe someone else had sent him?

They reached a stone wall before Krum stopped, abruptly, causing Hermione to almost fall. She scowled, but when he paced three times in front of the wall, her brows drew together curiously. And then a door appeared, and Hermione was amazed and a little in awe. If only she had this room to use, and then she and Harry wouldn't have had to ward and lock their practice room so heavily!

Krum walked through the heavy wooden door and Hermione obediently followed. She was too curious not to, now. But upon entering, she paused.

The room was lush and covered in shades of deep blue, filled with couches and bookshelves and a warm, crackling fireplace. But that wasn't what stole Hermione's attention. It was the two students sitting on a sofa, deep in conversation—Diggory and Delacour. Shamefully, Hermione almost backed away right there. But Krum's grip on her wrist was firm.

"She is hurt," he said, which caused Diggory and Delacour to spring up and turn surprised eyes to Hermione. She felt herself shrinking behind him. Any minute, and the insults would start flying—or worse, the laughter. _Why, oh why, would she ever think he was helping her?_

Hermione twitched when Delacour moved closer, graceful as some kind of large wildcat. She had a predator's grace, which was scary enough without factoring the energy that crackled in the room. Hermione felt like all of her hair was standing on end. Delacour's eyes were narrowed.

"What is zis?" She asked. Krum pulled up Hermione's sleeve, letting the runes sit red and angry in the open.

"It doesn't hurt, really, I barely noticed it after the task—" Hermione began, wondering all the while she was trying to prevent their help. And, more, why they were offering it. Guilt, maybe?

But Delacour was already running diagnostic charms, and Diggory was taking long strides to a cupboard Hermione was _certain_ wasn't in the wall before to grab some ointment. He tossed it to Krum, who let go of Hermione just long enough to catch it ( _bloody quidditch show-offs_ , she inwardly seethed, missing twin smirks above her head). With lightning efficiency, her arms were rubbed with a thick, green paste and bandages were tightly secured around her skin. She was grateful, but confused. Not one word was spoken through any of this. It was like they all _knew_ what to do. How could they know?

But before Hermione could put words to anything she was thinking, she was ushered into a deep blue loveseat, her feet tucked under her, and a blanket over her lap. The other three champions sat parallel to her. Hermione couldn't help but feel she was entering an interrogation.

Diggory was the first to break the ice.

"I think, er, Krum came, but we both wanted to say it, too. We're sorry about the dragons. Merlin above, I can't believe I let you walk into that tent without helping, or _something_. You could've died! Bloody good Hufflepuff, I am." He was angry at the end of this, Hermione noticed. His cheeks were flushed.

"Diggory—" Hermione began.

"Cedric. Just Cedric. You deserve it, after all, you know."

"Okay, Cedric. I—you—don't have to apologize. I thought, you know, you figured I was cheating, and I was ruining your tournament the whole time, and I can't fault you for—"

"Fault him! 'Ermione, we are all at fault. Terribly. 'Ou did nuzzing wrong. Nuzzing. We were—blinded, 'ou could say, by our own eyes," Fleur cut in.

"Your own… eyes?" Hermione asked, despite herself.

Fleur's eyes darkened. "Oui—blinded. You are… 'Ermione, 'ou are a force." She muttered something in French too low and too fast for Hermione to catch. "—Excuse moi, you are, euh, small and strong. Zat is scary."

"I don't…" Hermione trailed off.

"We _like_ you, Granger." Cedric said, bluntly. His lips twitched into a smirk.

Hermione blinked. "Uh, I like you too," she said. "I didn't, of course, not at first, but you apologized, and recognized you were wrong, and what I mean is, er, I'd like to be friends, too. I think we all know I need them, right now." She shrugged.

Three collective breaths were released. Hermione licked her lips, and three pairs of eyes zeroed in on that tongue. She didn't notice.


	8. Chapter 8

The next day, Hermione found herself often in the company of one of her fellow champions. These days, Harry would join her at meals, and remain by her side in class, but often, during breaks, he would disappear—she suspected he was hunting invisible creatures with Luna. Not that she minded, of course. But having others around—friends—was nice.

Fleur walked her from Potions to Herbology, though it earned both of them some strange looks. The first student to mutter "mudblood" as Hermione passed found their robes smoldering and sparking, courtesy of Fleur. The blonde just smirked mischievously and Hermione couldn't help the funny somersaults her stomach was doing.

And Cedric joined Hermione after lunch as she was leaving the Great Hall, inviting her out on the quidditch pitch with him. When she warned him she didn't play, she just laughed and said she could read while he practiced. So she shrugged and joined him, and took notes while he chased practice snitches. Occasionally Hermione would call out compliments when he did something particularly impressive. She knew, from her experience with Harry and Ron, boys tended to like that sort of thing. And it wasn't like he was showing off, certainly not for her… but, well, some of those moves were rather flashy and looked very nice up in the sky. And they were friends, now, so she ought to put in a little effort toward maintaining that.

After her final class of the day—Ancient Runes—Hermione was joined by Viktor in the library, who turned out to be an excellent study partner. Well, after they managed to sneak away from his silly fans—which happened with two hasty disillusioning charms, lots of laughter, and a small table tucked into a corner of the library. When Hermione complained (jokingly) about the tiny table, Viktor just looked her up and down, and, in his flat baritone, said "Vell, you are tiny, so is fitting." Hermione giggled—which was funny, because she never giggled. She just wasn't that type. But she was so relieved at having friends, with her fellow champions of all people, that she couldn't find it in herself to be bothered.

Before Hermione packed up her things to head to dinner, Viktor stopped her. "Ve are meeting in Requiring Room after dinner—you should join."

Hermione only paused a second before agreeing."Should I bring the egg?" Hermione asked.

Viktor blinked. "If you vish," he said. Hermione took that to be a yes. She smiled, gathered her things, and then left the library. Merlin, it was nice to be included in this little group, and who knows? Maybe they'd all be able to figure out the riddle—together.

Dinner was a short affair, and she confirmed with Harry that he had been, in fact, hunting for blibbering humdingers with Luna outside the herbology greenhouses all day. Hermione herself didn't put much stock in Luna's creatures, but, who was she to judge? She had only explored so little of the Wizarding World, after all. One day she was going to travel the entire world, and then she'd be able to confirm if those creatures existed. Until then, though, she would just shrug her shoulders and continue to give Harry gentle nudges in Luna's direction. She much preferred Luna to Cho Chang, Harry's former crush in Ravenclaw. The blonde was much nicer, and Hermione didn't think Cho ever bothered to give Harry the time of day—the girl's eyes were always on Cedric. Hermione ignored the twinge in her stomach that arrived with that thought.

After dinner, she told Harry where she was going, and made her way to the Room of Requirement—after a quick stop to her room to grab the golden monstrosity. Honestly, why the tournament officials insisted on something so gaudy, she will never know.

The Room of Requirement was already occupied by her three new friends, each in various positions in the same lush, blue room she had seen just the other night. Fleur lounged on a velvet chaise, reading something about birds, from what Hermione could see of the title. Viktor took up practically took up an entire loveseat on his own (was that a book on curses? She couldn't recognize the title), and Cedric was stretched out along a navy sofa with a blanket tossed hastily over his lap, apparently asleep. The fireplace was crackling, gently keeping the room warm and glowing. It was like paradise. A cozy, warm paradise with just enough room for four people.

Well, three people. There were only three couches. But that was fine—Hermione sat down on the floor in front of the fireplace. Oh, the rug was so soft. None of the other champions seemed to notice her, aside from a soft hello from Fleur, so Hermione settled onto her stomach and tugged out the book she was currently working through. She had already finished her homework (for the next two weeks), so now she was devoted to figuring out the egg.

She had discovered early on the irritating, awful whining that the egg produced when it was opened. Hermione, in her typical way, drew a map of as many possible interpretations of the noise as she could—and had now narrowed it down to two. One, the noise was intended to prevent her from opening it, which would imply the clue was on the outside of the gaudy thing, rather than the inside. Or, two, the noise itself was the clue—which meant it was in some language, or code, she didn't understand. Option one was practically exhausted, and she had decided to return to it if option two didn't turn out. So right now she was working her way through two books on languages—one wizarding, one muggle—and muggle book of codes from World War Two onwards.

When Krum glanced up and saw the books she was reading, he asked if it was for the egg. She said it was, and he admitted he was also looking at languages, but hadn't found anything. But he was curious about the muggle codes.

"Well," Hermione began, aware she was speaking to purebloods, "about forty years ago, muggles had a war that began—well, it doesn't really matter how, but it was called 'World War Two' because countries from all over the world were involved—Australia, North America, most of Europe, India, China, and Japan, among a few others—and so muggles needed to be able to send messages that enemies wouldn't be able to read, unlike language, which could be translated. So they invented a lot of complex codes, and created an art called cryptography, to outwit their enemies. And now, muggles are still inventing new codes and languages, sometimes for war, sometimes just for fun."

"And 'ou zink… ze egg might be a muggle code?" Fleur asked.

"Maybe. Or a wizarding one. Or it's the outside etchings of the egg we're supposed to focus on, and the noise is just warning us away, but I don't think it's that." Hermione said. Fleur blinked, as if she hadn't considered that yet.

"You have had luck?" Krum asked.

"Er, not yet," Hermione admitted. "Most of these codes scramble letters or numbers, or were made with shapes, pictures, or even dots and dashes, like Morse Code. But I haven't found—"

Just then, Cedric turned over, and, with a sharp jerk, called out "beware the whales!" Then he was silent, and his snoring picked up again. Hermione blinked, and felt her lips twitching upwards. Viktor snorted, and Fleur was the first to break down into loud laughter. Hermione and Viktor quickly followed. 

They must have woken up Cedric with their noise, because a minute later he sat up groggily, his hair rumpled. "Whazzup," he asked, running one hand roughly through his hair, causing another round of laughter.


	9. Chapter 9

The next day followed in much the same suit. Aside from a minor confrontation in the hallways—which ended in Malfoy running to Madame Pomfrey, courtesy of Krum, who narrowed his eyes afterwards turned away as if he didn't _just_ hex Malfoy—most students were slowly learning to stay out of Hermione's way. Last week, Malfoy had apparently created pins disparaging Hermione, but Harry informed her that Luna made quick work of those, adding glitter, large red bows, and very strange compliments to Hermione whenever their wearers weren't watching. So they had mostly disappeared, with Hermione none the wiser and able to laugh about it after the fact. The strange blonde was far, far cleverer than others gave her credit for. And with Harry throwing his support behind her, she was practically unstoppable.

It was raining, so Cedric didn't invite her out on the pitch again—instead, he brought her to the kitchens to get hot cocoa from the house elves. Unfortunately, he didn't realize Hermione already knew where they were—poor Cedric thought they were a well-kept Hufflepuff secret.

Hermione sheepishly had to tell him that she had known where it was, ever since Fred and George told her the location ("Those rascals!" exclaimed Cedric) and she began her campaign to end house-elf slavery. But recently her efforts had, unfortunately, taken a back-burner to the tournament itself.

"Thank Merlin!" Cedric said in response.

"What do you mean?"

"House elves—they're bound to the magic of their masters," Cedric began. "If an elf is freed, they aren't able to siphon magic from their human family, and they wither away. It's quite an ugly process, actually."

"That's—that's _awful_!" Hermione exclaimed. "But look at Dobby, or Winky—they're still alive and doing just fine!"

Cedric shot a skeptical glance towards the female elf Hermione had indicated, who was currently sitting listless in the corner. "I don't think she's doing 'fine'," he said.

"But Dobby?" Hermione persisted. She pointed towards a bustling elf who was busy preparing a steaming bowl of some kind.

Cedric frowned. "He must be unusually strong," he began, "or at least managed to find a way to siphon magic from Hogwarts herself. Or, he's lying about being free, and he's bound somehow, maybe unknowingly, to a wizard."

"But even _if_ that's all true," Hermione replied, "don't they deserve better treatment? I saw Winky. She was clearly afraid of heights, and forced up to hold a seat at the Top Box anyways! Or what about the barbaric practice of punishing elves like Dobby?"

Cedric held his hands up. Hermione's hair was practically sparking, now. "I'm not saying that's not wrong, Hermione, but it's just the way things _are_. If wizards have the power over a house-elf's very life, then they can make it do anything they want."

"Slavery was legal in the muggle world, too, for a long time," Hermione said, "and we found ways to eradicate it even when some people had all the power over others. And we can do it with house-elves, too. We just need fairer legislation and more laws to protect creatures in the Ministry."

"No offense, but Hermione… what do you know about creature laws?" Cedric's hazel eyes looked dubious, and Hermione had to count to three for patience. She would not snap at her new friend. She would _not_.

"Last year, when I was doing research to save Buckbeak—"

"The hippogriff?"

"Yes. A lot of my research was to find legal loopholes to prevent his case going to trial. And the year before, with the basilisk—"

"Blimey, was that what was petrifying students?"

"Yes, actually, though I can't imagine _why_ an announcement was never made. I just assumed everyone knew by now. Anyways, I discovered it was a basilisk, actually, and was petrified because of it—"

"You were _what_?"

Hermione sighed, momentarily impatient. "I've gotten into a few scrapes over the years, Cedric," she said, "usually with Harry Potter—actually, always with him." She noticed Cedric's eyes narrowing. "He's a bit of a danger magnet, really, though this is the first time I've been targeted, instead. It's a bit overdue, really." She chuckled to herself.

"I think… I think Fleur and Viktor should hear this, too." Cedric said, unusually serious.

"Why?" Hermione asked, unsure.

"They just… they'll care, okay?" And then he tacked on: "And who knows, maybe something you've encountered could help with the egg." Well. He certainly knew how to persuade her.

With that, Hermione acquiesced, and agreed to meet them all in the blue room later that evening again. She finished off her cocoa, thanked Cedric for bringing her down (she was a little touched, actually, he showed her a "Hufflepuff secret"—it was sweet), and made her way to her next History of Magic.

After History of Magic, Fleur joined Hermione and walked her to Arithmancy, which Hermione appreciated. They chatted lightly, and it was only when they were almost to Hermione's classroom that Hermione realized their walk was so… efficient. There wasn't a better word for it. Students were almost never in their path, and the hexes and jinxes Hermione was used to dodging were nonexistent. She looked at Fleur, who was looking straight ahead. When a brief lull in their conversation appeared, Hermione took her chance.

"Fleur," she began, only a little intimidated, "why are people moving out of our way so easily?"

Fleur snorted, though it still somehow managed to sound elegant. "'Ermione, zey are watching us. Zey cannot 'elp but move."

Hermione nodded. "Oh, like your veela allure? Is that it?"

Fleur shook her head, slowly. "'Ou are brave, 'Ermione, for bringing up my 'eritage. Mais non, it is not me. Zey are looking at _both_ of us."

"Sorry—"

"No, it's alright, 'Ermione. More should be like 'ou."

Hermione blushed at the compliment. She realized what Fleur was saying—they were shocked at seeing the two of them together. Not just that Hermione was no longer being rejected by the other champions, but also that the pretty, tall, imposing Fleur wanted to be seen at her side.

"Ah, I see," she said. They reached the door to Arithmancy. "Merci beaucoup, Fleur, for walking me. I, uh, I appreciate it. Your ability to clear the hallway is also pretty helpful," she joked.

" _Our_ ability, 'Ermione," Fleur said, and then swept away, her pale blue cape fluttering in her wake.

Hermione struggled to concentrate in Arithmancy. Too many questions were swirling around in her head, and the conversations with Cedric and Fleur were replaying over and over, though she couldn't fathom why. Potions followed in much the same suit, and Hermione even managed to brew a perfect Wideye potion—not that it was acknowledged, of course. Professor Snape's unfair attitude had stopped bothering her a long time ago.

At dinner, she caught up with Harry, and, bemusedly, noticed a happy Luna joining them on their end of the table. She looked at Harry, and he just shrugged. Hermione winked and he blushed, though Luna didn't seem to notice. Or, if she did, she didn't say anything. _Good on her for making it a little difficult for Harry_.

And after dinner—at which she excused herself eagerly, to give the _lovebirds_ room—she hurriedly made her way back to the Room of Requirement. Surprisingly, Hermione found she _still_ was the last to arrive—she must have missed Cedric leaving the Great Hall.

The room was set up as before, with three plush couches (Fleur's chaise, Krum's loveseat, and Cedric's sofa) and varying shades of blue throughout the room. The fireplace was, again, crackling, but Hermione's rug had disappeared. _Oh well_ , she mentally shrugged, and grabbed a pillow off Cedric's sofa to cushion the floor. It was a little disconcerting, because the way Fleur described the Room earlier, it became whatever the student willed it to become. Perhaps it just wasn't attuned to her yet?

"'Ou know, 'Ermione, 'ou can just join one of us," Fleur said, casually.

"Oh, er, I'm fine where I am. But thank you," Hermione stumbled out.

Fleur shrugged. Cedric's eyes were laughing, and Viktor remained fairly expressionless, as usual.

"Cedric said some things about school years," Viktor said, breaking the momentary silence that fell after Hermione's comment.

"Oh, um, yes. I've had some adventures with Harry the last three years. Probably not nearly as dangerous—" here, she shot a glance toward Cedric, who shrugged innocently "—as Cedric made it out to be."

"Regardless, we would like to 'ear, 'Ermione," Fleur said. "We would like to know 'ou."

And with that, Hermione began with her first year—the Troll, their suspicions of Snape, the trials that they embarked on to get the Philosopher's Stone, the eventual reveal of Quirrel with Voldemort on the back of his head.

"I almost do not want to 'ear about your second year," Fleur said. But Cedric motioned her to continue.

That, of course, was not nearly as exciting (in Hermione's opinion), since she had been petrified as soon as she discovered the monstrous creature haunting Hogwarts' halls was a basilisk.

"A basilisk." Krum muttered, flat. His eyes were dark and burning. He looked angry. But Hermione continued onto third year.

This of course, was the story of her time-turner, Buckbeak, Sirius Black's escape, Remus Lupin's transformation, and Peter Pettigrew's betrayal. By the end of it, she was faced with three wide eyes and three friends who immediately reached for her. To comfort her or themselves, she wasn't sure.

 _It's sweet_ , Hermione thought, _that they care for me so much that they want to… want to reassure themselves, sort of, that I'm alright_. So she let Krum pull her onto his loveseat and hold her close. She was practically tucked into his chest. Hermione blushed, wondering if his female fans would hate her if they saw their position. Probably. She couldn't understand the deep, angry Bulgarian that he kept muttering, but she understood it to be nothing good.

Fleur's lips were pressed tight together, and Hermione could only catch snippets of the veela's rapid French insulting the headmaster, the school, and even Draco Malfoy. At some point, she had scooted closer, and now was perched on the arm of the loveseat to Hermione's left, and had one hand in Hermione's hair, threading her fingers through in a way that made Hermione feel relaxed and lethargic. The girl's fingers were _magical_.

And Cedric, sitting at her feet, below Fleur, just kept exclaiming "I can't _believe_ we never knew this! I just can't _believe_ it."

A few minutes passed before Krum finally returned to English.

"Out of all students at Hogwarts," he said heavily, "I am glad you were fourth in tournament, Herm-own-ninny."

Hermione nodded, unsure of herself. Did he mean he felt she had the best chance to survive the tournament? Was he merely glad he met her? But the quidditch star was clearly not one for words, and he fell silent again.

Fleur followed. "We are lucky to have 'ou 'ere wiz us. But I am sorry 'ou 'ad to experience all zat. Ze students 'ere do not know what 'ou did for zem."

"Merlin, Hermione. Just… Merlin." Cedric followed.

Hermione felt lighter. It wasn't that she needed validation, exactly, following the trials she had been through since her first year, but with her main friends being Harry and Ron, who experienced the same things she did, sympathy—or even support—was rather in short supply. Merlin, she loved Harry, but the boy didn't know what was acceptable, or even legal, ninety percent of the time. She was lucky to have some friends who could acknowledge what she'd been through, what she'd done.

She went to bed that night with a light heart.

 **Thank you for your kind reviews, everyone! I really enjoy reading all of your ideas—especially what you think is working and what you think isn't. I know I'm not responding to everyone as they come in, but I hope you know how much I appreciate all of your thoughts. (I'm slowly making tweaks as I write, and they're turning out to be much more fun than I expected!).**

 **P.S. Who do you think should get Hermione's first kiss? I'm still undecided.**


	10. Chapter 10

The very next morning, the Yule Ball was announced. Hermione caught only the response to the announcement as she rushed into the Great Hall late, for possibly the first time that year. But she had slept so soundly, and so deeply, it was nearly impossible to climb out of bed! As it was, her hair was still a frizzy mess, and her tie was loose. Oh, well. It's not like she hadn't looked worse, before.

Excited buzzing filled the hall just as Hermione slipped into her seat beside Harry. Harry's eyebrows raised, but he didn't demand an explanation. Hermione was grateful.

"Slept late," she muttered.

Harry's eyes filled with mirth as he took in her bedraggled appearance. "Yule Ball is coming up," he said. "Champions lead off the whole ball, and you've got to learn to dance beforehand. McGonagall's doing private lessons for Gryffindor."

Hermione groaned, though she appreciated Harry's concise summary. Sure, she knew how to dance, but she didn't want to be stuck anywhere near McGonagall, whose chilly reception of her was telling of the woman's biases. And who would she take, anyways? She could ask Harry, who would doubtlessly agree, but she didn't want to keep him from taking Luna, who he inevitably would. No one else in the school was speaking to her, even if they weren't outright attacking her. Maybe Neville? He'd been passive enough. Or one of the Durmstrang boys, who she could coerce into going with her? The redheaded Beauxbatons girl? But she didn't know if that would be allowed, much less the wizarding world's reception of same-sex couples. Hermione's head swirled with possibilities as she dazedly made her way out of the hall.

Fleur intercepted her on her way out.

"'Ave 'ou 'eard about ze ball?" She asked.

Hermione nodded.

"Who are 'ou zinking of taking?" Fleur asked. Her body language was deceptively casual but there was a hard tone underneath her words.

"Er, I'm not sure," Hermione replied. "I was thinking Harry—" a growl rumbled, but Hermione couldn't imagine it coming from the pretty veela, "—but I think he might take Luna Lovegood, since he's positively enamoured with her. And nobody else is talking to me, so," she shrugged her shoulders helplessly. Admitting that weakness was hard, but she didn't really expect Fleur to ask _that_ particular question so quickly, so she didn't have an answer concocted.

"I zink we will talk about zis tonight," Fleur said. "Ze Room of Requirement, as usual?"

Hermione nodded, and Fleur left, presumably to inform Cedric and Viktor about their meeting.

That night, Hermione was the first one to arrive. She paced three times in front the door, imagining the room exactly as she remembered it—and, to her delight, the room showed up. But she huffed a sigh when she realized she forgot to include another seat for her. Oh, well. Looks like she was taking over Cedric's navy sofa for the night. She stretched her legs out, feeling her back crack as she laid back on the sofa. It really _was_ comfy—no wonder Cedric fell asleep that one time. She snorted at the memory. Whales, of all things.

Viktor walked into the room in a storm, his entire frame tensed and coiled. Hermione had only one guess for what happened.

"Chased around all day?" She asked, drily.

Viktor grunted. "Are unbelievable," he said. "Is it not men who ask?" He flopped onto Fleur's usual chaise.

Hermione snickered lightly. "You are the one who chose fame and fortune over peace and quiet," she said. "It's only natural you'd have some, er, fans."

"Ah, Herm-own-ninny! No sympathy for fellow student. I should take _you_ , to show off."

Hermione blushed. He wasn't serious, of course, but before she could reply, the door burst open once more and an exhausted-looking Fleur walked through. She huffed, and threw herself dramatically on Viktor's loveseat.

"'Ou would not believe," she stressed, "ze _audacity_ of some boys. Ze _daring_! I 'ave never 'ad so many 'ands on me. Never!"

Hermione winced as Viktor's eyes narrowed.

"They put hands on you?" he asked. He looked ready to pummel someone. Hermione would help. No one, especially not the French veela, deserved groping hands and stubborn boys.

"Four boys are in ze 'ospital wing now," she said, a little too smugly, "wiz many burns, so zey are not a bozzer."

Both Hermione and Viktor deflated minutely. _Since when_ , Hermione thought, _has Fleur been so important to me?_ It seemed to be one of those mysterious things that just happened without anyone noticing. Hermione wasn't sure if she liked that.

But her thoughts were broken when Cedric followed through the door just a few minutes after Fleur. Unlike the other two, he looked perfectly put together. Pristine, even, with every hair in place and those hazel eyes dancing. He looked amused. Ah, of course. He must have heard about Fleur's "talents" by now.

"So what's the emergency?" He asked. "Is this about the Yule Ball? Because I have a plan."

He walked casually into the room, toward Herione's sofa, where she was still sprawled out.

"You're in my spot," he said, amused, standing over her.

"Should have created another chair," Hermione teased.

"Maybe," he said, but in the next moment, in a graceful swoop, he lifted up her legs, settled into the far end, and let them drop again on his lap. Hermione mock-glared. But she couldn't deny she was still comfy, so didn't say anything. Cedric smirked, and turned back to face the Fleur and Viktor. His fingers idly tapped against her left shin.

"I, too, 'ave a plan." Fleur said, glaring a little at Cedric.

Viktor hummed. Hermione figured he _also_ had a plan, since that seemed to be tonight's trend.

"I just don't understand why we need a plan. Don't we all just have to find dates? That shouldn't be hard at all, at least not for you three." Hermione said.

"Do you think I vant to attend with fan?" Viktor asked, scowling. "They are loud, follow me around. They vill sell pictures to press, or stories."

Hermione winced in sympathy.

"And I don't need a boy 'oo will follow me like a puppy. Zey cannot take no for an anzzer." Fleur added.

Cedric shrugged. "I just don't see anyone I want to take," he said. "No one outside of this room, at least," he added, wiggling his eyebrows.

"You're suggesting… we all take each other?" Hermione asked slowly.

"Vould solve problems," Krum said. His intense eyes were trained on Hermione, though she wasn't sure why. Perhaps he was worried she would object?

Fleur, too, had her gaze on Hermione. "I am in," she said. "Easier zis way."

And then Cedric was looking at her, too, and Hermione realized they were waiting for her verdict.

"I'm in, of course," she said. "It's not like I have that many prospects otherwise."

There was some grumbling about this from her fellow champions, but Hermione knew she was right. She wasn't much bothered, anyway—her social standing had long since been accepted.

"Vhat about Harry Potter?" Krum asked.

"I'm pretty sure he's taking Luna Lovegood. Or he should, at least, if he knows what's good for him." Hermione frowned.

"You're not… together?" Fleur asked.

"Oh, Merlin, no," Hermione laughed, "we're best friends. Like brother and sister. But, ew. Definitely not."

"Vell. I think we have a plan. Who takes who?" Krum asked.

Hermione blinked. An awkward beat followed, before Fleur piped up. "'Oo can dance?" she asked.

All four of them raised their hands.

"Never mind," the veela said, looking mildly surprised.

"Well," Hermione piped up, quietly, "Cedric and I probably shouldn't go together because we're both from Hogwarts, and we're supposed to promote inter-school relationships."

Cedric turned toward her, surprised. "Who told you that?" He asked.

"McGonagall."

"Then I vill take Herm-own-ninny, and Fleur vill take Cedric?" Viktor asked.

Fleur laughed. "Or _I_ will take 'Ermione, and you take Cedric," she said, a devious smile on her lips. She narrowed her eyes at Viktor.

Hermione blinked. "Is that accepted here?" She asked.

Cedric was the first to answer. "Some older pureblood families still require opposite-sex marriages to carry on the family line… but nobody much cares if they have dalliances on the side. But in the rest of the wizarding world, yeah, it's pretty accepted."

"And in France? And Bulgaria?" Hermione asked.

"We French are known for our love, 'Ermione—of course we are accepting of same-sex romances." Fleur said.

Viktor, though frowned. "In Bulgaria, is not so accepted. Or common. The old families, vot you call them, purebloods?—they disapprove, and are vocal. Ve are more traditional, at home."

"Would it cause problems for you, if you were to appear at the ball with Cedric?" Hermione asked, genuinely concerned. She knew how fickle a celebrity's fame could be, and didn't want her new Bulgarian friend to be hurt by such a silly thing as a ball.

"It might," Viktor said, looking at Cedric, his eyebrows drawn together. "But—"

Hermione cut him off. "Then we shouldn't risk it, at least not right now. You have your school's—and country's—backing right now! That would be a shame to lose in the middle of the tournament."

Viktor accepted the idea. "Then I vill take you," he said.

"And I'll take the lovely Fleur," Cedric added. He and Fleur shared a smile.

Hermione smiled, too. Inwardly, she was a little disappointed, which was silly, but… well, she would've liked for someone to take her because they _wanted_ to, not because it was just required or strategically sound. But at least she had a date. She met Viktor's eyes. He smiled at her, and she smiled back, before looking down, blushing. He didn't smile much, but when he did… Merlin, he could light up a room.

She found Fleur's and Cedric's eyes a moment later, and they both shot her encouraging smiles, too. Looked like everyone was supportive of the plan. What a weight off her chest. No more worrying about dates, or fearing the worst—that she'd be forced to go alone. And what's more is all her pretty, popular fellow champions want her to go with them! And even, she suspected, devised a plan to make sure she wouldn't be left out. Her heart thudded painfully with the thought. She almost wished… No. No, this was enough. She wouldn't wish for more. What _more_ was, she wasn't even sure.

That night, when she finally returned to the common room, she found Harry staring into the fireplace and brooding. She sat next to him, nudging his shoulder. He turned toward her.

"D'you think I should ask her?" He asked. "Sirius said I should, but he's a lot braver than I am—"

"Oh, Harry," Hermione sighed. "First of all, Sirius certainly _isn't_ braver than you are—not at all! You've faced Voldemort, a basilisk, an angry werewolf—and, Professor Snape! And second, of course you ought to ask. If you like her, you should. She'll be thrilled."

"You don't even know her," Harry grumbled, arms crossed over his chest.

"Does her name start with 'L' and end with 'una'?" Hermione snicked.

"Shut up."

"Look," Hermione sighed again, "I already have a date. I _beat_ you, and all but six people in this school right now want to curse me off Great Britain. You can do better." Shamelessly, she appealed to his inner competitive streak, which almost worked—but for his attention to her actual _words_.

"You have a date? Merlin, Hermione, that was fast! Don't tell me it's Ron. No, it can't be. Neville?" He gasped, " _Draco?_ "

Hermione laughed. "None of them, but I'll tell you… _if_ you ask the lovely Miss Lovegood as your date." She was an expert in cajoling the boys to do the things she wanted them to, and shamelessly used those hard-earned talents now.

Harry groaned. "Not fair, 'Mione!" But Hermione knew she'd won. She smirked as Harry slumped back upstairs—she'd bet money that he'd ask Luna by this time tomorrow.

Hermione went to bed satisfied.


	11. Chapter 11

After the initial excitement of the Yule Ball had dimmed somewhat, it was back to business. Well, for the champions, at least, whose intentions had returned to the egg. Every night for the rest of the week, Hermione met her fellow champions in their room to work. Sometimes, it was homework (Viktor, actually, turned out to be a great help on Hermione's potions essay on the properties of moonstone, and Cedric knew far more about charms than he let on), but most of their time was devoted to the looming second task.

Fleur's attentions were focused on birds and other creatures that laid eggs, while Viktor and Cedric were now studying the etchings on the surface. And Hermione, of course, was still making her way through books on languages and codes.

But it wasn't until the following weekend that Hermione found a breakthrough.

"How do you think I should die this time, 'Mione?" Harry asked. He and Luna were curled up on a chaise in the Gryffindor common room, officially "together" after he had asked her to the ball. But right now Luna was reading some odd newspaper upside-down while Harry was working on his divination homework, absentmindedly running his fingers through Luna's hair.

"Ghouls attacking Hogwarts?" Hermione asked, her mind entirely focused on her transfiguration essay.

"Already done it," Harry replied.

"Giant spiders?"

"Done."

"Muggle bombs?"

"Also done."

"Killer whale attack at the London Zoo?" She distantly thought of Cedric's sleep-talking.

"Ooh, that's a good one… thanks, Hermione. I don't think she'll expect that one."

Luna chose that moment to pipe in. "Did you know orcas can call to each other underwater through calls, whistles, and clicks? The clicks are a high enough frequency they can even be used for echolocation. In fact, I believe that gulping plimpies use a similar method to communicate in small lakes."

Hermione began nodding; she had loved underwater creatures as a kid, and knew that already. Well, aside from the bit about the plimpies. But one those words—high enough frequency—whining, clicking sounds underwater… oh, Merlin! The egg! That could be it! She sprung up from her chair, papers tossing to the ground. She had to share this!

"'Mione…. 'Mione? Hermione?" Harry asked, concerned.

"Harry, that's it! Luna, thank you! The whales—underwater—high pitch frequency—I have to tell the others!" Hermione only paused long enough to gather her papers and books and shove them into her bag. Then she was out the door, running….

Wait. Where was she running? It was before dinnertime, and one of her free blocks. And they weren't meeting tonight; they didn't do that on weekends. But who knew where the others were? They might be in class, or with their friends, or—

No, she refused to think they'd be meeting without her. They'd stopped that when she was invited to join… right? But the little, niggling voice in the back of her head insisted she check the Room of Requirement, just in case. It was silly, but once she did that, she move on and track them down elsewhere.

Her trek down the hallway was hurried. Hermione began composing mental lists of where else they might be. _The Durmstrang ship, the Beauxbatons carriages, the library, the quidditch pitch, one of the many empty classrooms_ … Worst case scenario, she could also always borrow Harry's map. She should have thought of that before she ran off!

Before she knew it, she had paced three times in front of the wall and was opening the door into the room. _See, nobody's he—_

Except they _were_ there. Somebody—three somebodies—were sitting in a room draped in blues. And in their usual chairs, no less! Their _three_ usual chairs. But they were pushed together, and looked rather cozy—Fleur's feet were in Krum's lap, and Krum was running his hand up and down Cedric's arm lazily.

Hermione froze. Three wide eyes turned towards her, and she swallowed hard.

 _They never promised me_ , she thought numbly, _they never told me I was included_. Three chairs. Three pairs of eyes. Three brilliant students who were each attractive, popular, and powerful. And they were so close! Physically, she meant. They usually weren't like that with her. _Was it all just out of pity? Guilt?_ Hermione couldn't bear the thought.

"It's—it's whales," she stumbled out. "The egg—underwater—high frequency." And with that, she spun and fled the room before Fleur, Viktor, or Cedric had the chance to say anything.

Hermione hurried back to the common room. But, on second thought, she realized she didn't want to face Harry and Luna. She loved them, but she couldn't face their happiness, their lightness, right now.

So she pivoted, and decided to return—no, not the library, her original sanctuary. The other champions knew where that was where she'd be, and she didn't want to see them right now, on the off-chance they decided to track her down. So down toward the dungeons, then, for the empty classroom she and Harry used to use for practice. Merlin, that seemed so long ago.

She transfigured a hasty couch and flopped onto it. Dust spun around the room. Her thoughts wouldn't stop spinning, replaying all the events that had led up to this one.

In hindsight, Hermione realized, perhaps she had been foolish. Grown too easily attached. Had they ever told her they would only meet all together, with the four of them? No, they certainly never did. And she couldn't even blame them for not realizing that any helping hand was a lifeline, any kindness in the sea of frowns that greeted her ever since her name was called meant almost the world to her. She saw their actions, likely out of guilt or pity, as, as—meaning they _liked_ her. Oh, she had been so silly! She should've recognized it for what it was earlier.

And now, they must think she—well, they'd be _right_ thinking she cared. But it embarrassed her, nonetheless. She couldn't imagine them laughing at her, right now—they were far too nice for that, as she'd realized quickly after getting to know them. Nice to their friends, at least, and Hermione liked to think that if she wasn't a friend to them, at least she was… an acquaintance, maybe. A sort of little-sister figure. Or cousin. Younger cousin. Someone you were obligated to be nice to because your parents ordered it but not so nice you'd ever spend time with them outside of family functions. Ouch. The thought stung.

So not _laughing_ , then, but maybe… pitying. They might apologize to her. Or, Merlin forbid, distance themselves.

Which, now that she thought about it, might be for the best. A working relationship, then. They were all partners, thrown into this tournament together, and their meetings in the blue room—well, they'd be just that, _meetings_. Like they were before Hermione had to go an muck it all up, misinterpreting everything. Hermione would help with the egg, and prepare for the next task, and the third one, but after that, they'd leave. And so would she. _And I will be just fine with that_ , she thought determinedly. She needed to keep her eyes on the ball, as muggles would say. Keep herself alive, re-build her reputation, graduate, travel. Study, work hard, and create a nice life for herself, away from deceptively kind champions and their secret meetings.

She nodded her head sharply, once, and stood up. Her joints cracked as she stretched—casting a brief tempus, she realized she'd been in her own little world for almost two hours. Oops. Looked like she missed dinner.

Hermione swung her bag over her shoulder and made her way to the kitchen. That reminded her—house elves. Now that she wouldn't be spending so much time with her fellow champions, perhaps it was time to return to that project. Cedric's words rang in her ears, but she pushed his voice, and his knowledge of house-elves, roughly out. _Better legislation_ , she thought. _And a culture that's as horrified by mistreatment as I am. That's what we need_.

House-elves were a delightful distraction.

After snagging some toast and a steaming bowl of soup from the kitchens, Hermione returned to the common room. Harry was still sitting up, but it appeared Luna had left already. He looked up at her.

"Figure out the egg?" He asked.

"Not quite, but I think I have a clue, at least."

"Tell the other champions?" He asked. He knew how much time she'd been spending with them lately.

Hermione winced, "Well, sort of." And then the whole, awkward story came out. Walking into the three of them, her misunderstandings, her new resolve.

Harry hugged her. "Merlin, Hermione, I'm sorry that happened. But maybe it was just a one-off? They just all happened to be there at the same time?"

"I don't think so, Harry. I know I don't have any proof, but I think… I think this has been going on the whole time. I've just been so silly and I thought—I thought, there was something more. Like we were friends, you know? Not just competitors."

"I know you're blaming yourself, but they sound like a bunch of tossers," Harry said. "I wish—I wish this didn't happen, but at least you've got the egg figured out, right? You don't have to see them anymore, not really."

Hermione hugged him back. "You're right, Harry," she said, "I don't have to see them, but I haven't verified anything yet. And I think—I think I should see them, just to prove nothing is amiss, you know? Maybe it's not a big deal, anyways, and I'm overreacting. I don't want to let this alienate me from four of the six people at this school who still _smile_ at me. And they're holding the others at bay, too, and I think I need them a little while longer, at least for that."

Harry nodded in understanding. "Well, if you ever do decide to ditch them, just know you'll always have me and Luna. And Sirius, I'm sure, though he's not exactly here right now."

Hermione blinked away tears. "You're right, Harry. Thank you. So much. I'm going to bed now, but I'll talk to you more in the morning, alright? It'll be fine. I have all of tomorrow to get over it, too, before Monday. That'll be enough time."

Harry nodded again. "Goodnight, 'Mione," he said. "See you tomorrow."

Hermione flashed him a shaky smile and slipped upstairs to bed.


	12. Chapter 12

**Hey, all! Thank you for all your reviews & thoughts & ideas. Just a heads up: classes just started for me, so my updating schedule is going to slow down a little bit—with any luck, to once a week, rather than once every day! But we'll see. Thanks for sticking with me :) **

After a blissful Sunday holed up in the library—and no other champions in sight—Hermione felt prepared for the blue room later that evening. She had decided Sunday that although the hurt at seeing the three of them together was there, she didn't have much of a legitimate reason to feel the way she did. No promises were made, they did nothing to encourage her misperceptions, and she had never had any reason to think they were—were, _friends_ , anyways. She was embarrassed, to be sure, but she had been embarrassed before. It was fine.

But come Monday morning, Hermione couldn't help but sneak from class to class, hoping to avoid Fleur and keep the her from walking her through the crowded halls. And she stayed away from the corner of the library she and Viktor had studied, instead using a table buried between shelves of books to keep her hidden. And, somewhat shamefully, anytime she saw a Hufflepuff's yellow-and-black robes, she'd duck the other way.

Alright, so she wasn't _entirely_ over "the incident." But she was determined to mentally return their relationship to a professional one, and the first step to that was less contact overall. The next steps would be implemented later, beginning that evening.

But that plan was shot to hell after lunch.

"Have your new friends _ditched_ you, Granger?" Malfoy taunted in the hallway before Potions.

Hermione ignored him, but he kept going, matching her hurried stride. Crabbe and Goyle followed along behind, hulking but listless.

"They couldn't stand to be around the cheating, dirty _mudblood_ any longer, could they? What exactly did you have to do to get them to stick around this long, huh? Did you use that pretty little mouth to suck their—"

But then Malfoy was cut off and Hermione turned. Somebody had slammed Malfoy against the wall, and it looked like Cedric, standing behind him, had cast a quick _Silencio_. He looked furious. Crabbe and Goyle seemed to have disappeared—run away, most likely.

Hermione was silent, frozen. _Why is he here? How'd he know—why'd he know?_ Her head was spinning.

Cedric removed the _Silencio_ , but Malfoy didn't budge, for some reason. Was he stuck there? Malfoy's face was white and afraid. _Good_ , Hermione thought vindictively.

"Twenty points from Slytherin for verbally harassing a student," Cedric said in a clear, cold voice. "As a prefect, I took points. As a student—" here, he grinned, "—I have not seen, nor heard, Viktor Krum in this area. Did you know he's exceptionally good at disillusionment charms?"

And with that, Cedric stepped away and turned to face Hermione, who remained frozen in her spot. He offered her his arm. "Come on, now," he said. "You don't want to be here for the rest of it."

"Is Viktor…?" Hermione tentatively began.

"He's fine. Just needs to help our mutual friend," Cedric's lips twisted in distaste, "learn a few things. Nothing to be bothered by."

"Why are you here?" Hermione ventured. She chose to ignore what was probably happening to Malfoy. Honestly, she'd like to be bothered, but it was hard with the way Malfoy had been tormenting her all these years. She looked up at Cedric's face, all sharp angles and lines, still clearly tensed and poised for another fight.

"We've been looking for you, actually," he began, "and ended up splitting up. It was just luck Viktor and I ended up running into each other—and then, you."

"You were… looking for me?"

Cedric's face split into a boyish grin, so unlike the dark look that was there just a moment before. Hermione blinked.

"Yeah, of course we were. Hermione, you're brilliant—the underwater thing totally worked, and now we've got the clue!" Cedric exclaimed.

Hermione had almost forgotten about that, actually. But, despite her disappointment he never noticed the… the incident, she felt better for it. "Cedric, that's fantastic! What is it?"

"You'll just have to wait and find out, won't you?" He said, ruffling her hair casually. "Tonight, Room of Requirement?"

"I'll be there," she grinned. Seemed that things were almost back to normal.

He finished walking her to Potions and she smiled, and, impulsively, gave him a shy hug. "Thanks for being there, Cedric," she whispered, before letting him go and slipping inside the classroom.

Malfoy was not in Potions, as it turned out, and neither were Crabbe and Goyle. Hermione tried not to think about that fact too much. When Harry asked if she knew anything, Hermione just shrugged and whispered that she'd tell him later. But afterwards, when she heard rumors of the three of them in the Hospital Wing—though no one could quite agree on what happened, or what the injuries were—she knew that Viktor had certainly not gone easy on the Slytherins.

That made Hermione nervous. Viktor was an international celebrity; what if he got into trouble for this? His career could be seriously hurt. And never mind the ethics of a boy being attacked by someone three years older than himself! Two someones, really, if you count Cedric. She frowned.

Besides being concerned about their actions, Hermione was still puzzled over the motivation behind them. Their response seemed far more dramatic than the situation called for, honestly, and her new theory of her relationships with the champions (she'd dubbed it the "younger cousin theory") was struggling to stay afloat with these new actions. Actions like Cedric's ignorance of her mental turmoil over the weekend and his and Viktor's attack on Malfoy. And where did Fleur fit into all this?

Hermione felt a headache forming. Every pragmatic, she decided she'd just have to wait until the evening to find the answers she needed. But now that she knew the three champions were searching for her, Hermione didn't try so hard to remain hidden.

So Hermione wasn't surprised when Fleur figuratively pounced on her as she was exiting Potions, presumably to renew her former walking-Hermione-to-class tradition. Conversation was light an airy—almost too light, Hermione suspected. Perhaps she had heard of what had happened with Cedric and Diggory earlier. But she wasn't about to complain, not with everyone moving out of their way so quickly, just as they did every previous time Hermione and Fleur walked together.

And then, after dinner, Fleur also walked Hermione to the blue room, rather like a guard. Like she was assigned to ensure Hermione made it there. Were they afraid she'd run off? Something settled in the pit of Hermione's gut. There was nothing to be nervous about, right? They were just there to discuss the egg, and tell Hermione how retrieving the clue had gone.

Fleur gave a quick glance around before opening the door to the Room of Requirement, holding it open for Hermione. Hermione stepped inside, meeting the gazes of Cedric and Viktor. Both seemed calm, casual. The Room was exactly the same as it was before, only this time, oh, this time, a royal blue, velvety armchair was placed next to the fireplace in just the right place to make the four seats almost a complete circle. She smiled, and padded over to the chair. Although no official apology was given, Hermione could sense one hanging in the air. That was enough for her.

Once Fleur was settled into her own seat, she spoke.

"So," she said, "Zere was a little incident that 'appened earlier, yes?"

Hermione blinked. She didn't expect that to be the first thing the veela would say.

"Yes. The boy is taken care of," Viktor spoke, eyes hard.

But rather than objecting, the Fleur only smiled. "Zat is good," she said.

"Wait," Hermione began, "aren't you worried? Malfoy—his father's on the Board of Governors, you know, and he—"

"Herm-own-ninny, it is taken care of. He vill not speak."

"But you—your career. And you," she said, turning toward Cedric, "you're a prefect! You could lose your badge for this, or get expelled, or—"

"Hermione, it's fine. We're not getting caught, trust me." Something like dark amusement glittered in Cedric's eyes.

"Even so," she stressed, "you're behaving like a bunch of vigilantes! There are _rules_ , and what you did was two older students ganging up on one, even if he _is_ a prat!"

"'Ermione, are 'ou worried about us—" Hermione noticed she didn't use 'them' here "—or are 'ou worried about ze moral implications?"

"Because if is is us, ve are safe," Viktor began.

"And if it's the morals, well, how many times has Malfoy ganged up on you with his friends, and older Slytherins, and now, the entire school? How is that fair, either?" Cedric asked.

Hermione fell silent. A million arguments swam before her eyes. But just one question remained.

"But _why_?" She burst out. "Why do you all _bother_?"

The three older students exchanged glances.

"Ve care?"

"We like you?"

"'Oo are special?" Three voices spoke at once.

They sounded unsure… but honest. They were being honest. Hermione heaved a sigh of relief at that. They _did_ care, and she wasn't just the "younger cousin," and she wasn't just an interloper, either. They _cared_. They _liked_ her. They thought she was _special_.

She frowned. "I still don't like it, but… I understand why you did it. And thank you. I suppose I didn't say that earlier. Thank you for sticking up for me, all of you. I really, _really_ appreciate it."

All three smiled at her, and Hermione's breath caught. She was overwhelmed but couldn't pinpoint why. They just… they just… but then her thoughts were broken by a voice.

"So did you want to hear the clue?" Cedric asked.

Hermione grinned excitedly, all previous thoughts scattered. "Yes, of course!" The other champions grinned in response.

Fleur and Viktor, though, shared a look. A silent conversation seemed to pass between them before Viktor shrugged and Fleur scowled. Then they turned back to Cedric, who grinned boyishly. He cleared his throat mock-importantly.

"Come seek us where our voices sound,

We cannot sing above the ground,

And while you're searching ponder this;

We've taken what you'll sorely miss,

An hour long you'll have to look,

And to recover what we took,

But past an hour, the prospect's black,

Too late, it's gone, it won't come back."

When the clue finished, the room was momentarily draped in silence. Hermione was the first to break it.

"So… something important is going to be taken from us, and it's probably going to be underwater, and we'll have an hour to retrieve it."

Fleur hummed and Viktor nodded.

"So we just need to figure out a way to swim underwater for an hour, right?" Hermione asked, unsure. Surely it couldn't be that simple? Sure, there were some psychological elements of torture, there, but this didn't seem _nearly_ so bad as the first task. She even felt a little relieved.

Cedric, Fleur, and Viktor all nodded, each deep in thought themselves.

Hermione stood up first, drawing the others' eyes to her. "Well," she said, "I think I really ought to be going to bed—are we meeting here tomorrow, to work?"

"Yes. Vill meet until ve find solutions." Viktor said. Hermione smiled, nodded, and slipped out the door.


	13. Chapter 13

Outtakes

#1

"Should we wake 'er?" A pretty blonde veela asked her two partners. She eyed the girl sleeping on the picnic blanket in distaste.

"Ve should, but is her own fault if she misses curfew," the Bulgarian seeker spoke. He eyed the way the girl was stretched out; like she wasn't afraid of anything. Such a contrast to her normally hunched shoulders and tensed limbs.

"Y'know… she doesn't look so… _evil_ like this," the blond Hufflepuff said. His eyes wandered towards the book to her left; _Sneaky Shields for Slippery Situations_. And then next to it: _The Witches' Guide to Persuading Wizards_. He snorted. Such a silly book choice for a supposedly smart girl.

"I never said she is evil," the Bulgarian replied.

"She is not _evil_ ," the veela said, "just a lying, cheating, _pouffiasse_!"

"From what it sounds like… she didn't get herself in this tournament on purpose," the Hufflepuff said. "There are a lot of bad stories going around right now, but her friends, or old friends—they think she's innocent."

"'Ow do 'ou know?" The veela asked.

The Hufflepuff blushed. "Just rumors," he said. He wasn't about to admit how much time he'd spent finding out as much as he could on the young Gryffindor girl—well, all the champions, really. It was a little embarrassing.

Before they left, the Bulgarian cast a quick tickling charm at the girl's side. The other two pretended not to see.

#2

One day per week was set aside to discuss their pesky Gryffindor competitor. At first, it was mostly social, Hermione being the most convenient excuse to spend time together. That, and all the strategizing they did. Which wasn't entirely untrue, but… well, Cedric wasn't about to admit how eager he was to spend time with the two attractive, foreign students. And Fleur, too, certainly didn't want to give either of the two seekers bigger heads than they already had. Viktor just accepted he would admire his pretty, golden competitors from afar.

But the gossip was fun, at least—the Slytherins, and, surprisingly, most 'Claws, had plenty to share. Probably the two groups, Cedric surmised, that were most bothered by Hermione—and he proceeded to explain the house systems to the two confused champions. The Ravenclaws, he explained, were jealous of Hermione's consistent class rank, and the Slytherins were just, well, _Slytherins_.

The wildest stories—certainly not all true, but entertaining nonetheless—were tossed back and forth, along with many, many bottles of Firewhisky.

"Like she battled asib—bask—basilissssk," Fleur slurred.

"Or—or," Viktor hiccuped, "a verevolf!" He laughed loudly.

"Or she, she met he-who-should-not, I mean, shit, he-who-shit-not, no, _you-know-who_ —" Cedric stumbled.

"'E-who-shit-not!" Fleur cried.

"He-who-shit-not!" Viktor followed.

All three collapsed in laughter, a drunken mess of limbs and bodies that all somehow, come morning, found themselves naked, _very_ hungover, and having had ascended to becoming a new kind of "competitors" that they were sure _none_ of their predecessors ever reached.

#3

It was Cedric who first realized they all liked Hermione. _Liked_ liked. It came during one of their "Hermione meetings." Which were still only thinly disguised as gossip (after all, they did much, much more than merely _talk_ these days.)

"I protected her, the other day, you know," Cedric said, during a brief moment of silence.

Fleur flushed. "So did I," she said. "I do not zink she saw me, but…"

Viktor frowned. "I kept people from disturbing her in library."

Cedric glanced at the other two. "Oh," he said.

"Oh?" Viktor asked.

"Oh?" Fleur said at the same time.

"Oh." Cedric repeated. "We like her."

"Oh," Viktor grunted.

"Oh." Fleur said, eyes wide. "Merde."

"Vell… ve are already three, yes?" Viktor asked, eyeing them.

"Why not add a fourth?" Cedric asked, catching onto Viktor's idea.

"Do 'ou zink… she would want to?" Fleur asked, a hint of vulnerability in her voice. She had been perhaps the meanest to the girl, after all.

Cedric shrugged. "It's a little unconventional, but I don't see why not. And why wouldn't she? We're smart, attractive…"

"... Strong, successful," Viktor added on.

"And _modest_ ," Fleur snapped. But she was smiling. They all were.

They left the Room of Requirement, ambling down the hallway, when Cedric stopped in his tracks.

"Does she know?" Cedric asked, momentarily panicking. He realized he never told her about the dragons they'd be facing in just a few days!

"I didn't tell 'er," Fleur said, knowing immediately what he was talking about. Her eyes were wide and, for once, afraid.

"I did not," Krum added, also disturbed.

"Do you think we should…?" Diggory asked. How could they just approach this, out of the blue—and right after they realized they _liked_ her, for Merlin's sake!

"Is too late. And she is friends with Potter boy, yes? He is vith Hagrid often, must know." Krum said, soothing their fears.

"Merde," Fleur said. "If 'Ermione doesn't know, she will 'ate us."

"She must know," Cedric said, frowning.

(She didn't.)

#4

"I do not think this is a good idea," Viktor said, frowning. He surveyed their normal "Hermione meeting" room—but this time, it appeared to be decked out far more dramatically than when there were just the three of them. But the number of chairs—three—remained the same.

"But it is perfect!" Fleur exclaimed. "Wiz zese chairs, she must sit wiz one of us—and she will 'ave to face 'er feelings zat arise after ze _intimacy_."

Cedric smiled. "I'm in," he said, "I think it'll be cute." He shrugged.

The Bulgarian just sighed. "So how do ve get her here?" He asked.

Silence. Oops.

#5

"She could not think…" Viktor trailed off.

Three flushed faces looked at each other guiltily. Hermione had, somehow, caught them during one of their "Hermione meetings"—and they all silently prayed she didn't hear anything before she burst through the door. _That_ would be awkward, since they were discussing a new plan to open her up to the idea of a foursome ( _without, you know, actually telling her,_ Viktor had thought grumpily. He was definitely in favor of just telling the girl, but Cedric was afraid that they would scare her away and Fleur just wanted the chance to lure her over properly). But, in addition to her awkward appearance, it seemed the brilliant girl had, if not gotten the clue itself, figured out how to get it.

"D'you think sees us like this… and thinks we don't want to be around her?" Cedric put words to each of their thoughts.

Fleur sighed. "Oui, I zink zat would be 'er interpretation. She is insecure, no?"

All three silently contemplated this idea. It seemed absurd for this girl to be insecure. Brilliant, bold, beautiful… brash, too, and rather bookish, which gave those who were intimidated by her ample means for teasing. Still, though. It seemed unfair, somehow, that she would be so cowed by what others said of her.

"She does not know ve like her," Viktor said, confirming what they all had been thinking. "Not even as friends."

"Of course we do!" Fleur cried. "Ze chairs, ze compliments, ze protecting—"

Cedric frowned. "But _she_ doesn't see it that way," he said. "Has she even had anyone show her romantic interest, before? With those morons she hangs around…"

Viktor sighed. He had hoped all the time he'd spent with her in the library would mean _something_ , at least. But the girl, though brilliant, seemed to be terribly obtuse when it came to this sort of thing. "Govno," he muttered.

"So 'ow do we fix it?" Fleur asked, glancing between the two boys.

"Ve need a new plan," Viktor said.

All three champions sighed, the egg temporarily forgotten.


	14. Chapter 14

The Yule Ball approached faster than Hermione would have liked. All time previously devoted to the second task became re-dedicated to preparations for the ball. All four champions knew how to dance—though Fleur sheepishly apologized to Hermione that she had assumed Hermione wouldn't know, as the sole muggleborn in the group. Hermione had found it sweet Fleur cared, and so the issue was resolved.

But nonetheless, far more effort went into preparations than Hermione had expected. She, the queen of overthinking!

But Viktor explained it best. "Ve are diplomats of our schools, mila," he said. The endearment was fairly new, and Hermione still blushed every time she heard it. "Ve must represent ourselves vell."

"Ze colors of our dresses, ze style of dance we perform, ze people we dance with, ze conversation we make—it is all important!" Fleur added.

Hermione blinked. It was just… so much. But luckily she had her fellow champions to help. With the ball only three short weeks away, she had a feeling she'd be learning a lot.

Speaking of colors… "Is there any color of dress I'm supposed to be wearing?" She asked. She was planning on stopping by Gladrags the coming weekend to find her dress.

Fleur eyed her. "Not brown or black," she said. "Zey would drown 'ou."

"Not pink or purple either," Cedric said, "since you probably don't want to look any younger than you are." Having said his piece, he turned back to Viktor, who re-engaged him in conversation.

"Yellow might wash 'ou out, and orange does not belong in winter," she said. "So red, green, or blue. I, myself, am wearing blue."

"Should we match?" Hermione asked.

Fleur's eyes seemed to momentarily darken. "I would like that very much, 'Ermione," she said.

"I meant match the _room_ ," Hermione teased. "Seems blue is pretty on-trend lately, right?"

Fleur laughed. "Zat is true," she said. "Dark and light, zen?"

Hermione agreed. Dark blue and light blue seemed fitting for them, somehow.

"And where are 'ou going for your robes?"

"Gladrags, in Hogsmeade, probably," Hermione replied. "I know it's a little rushed, and it'll probably be busy, but—"

Fleur frowned. "I don't zink zey will get your robes in on time, regardless of being a champion," she said. "Why don't 'ou use a seamstress I know back in France? She is very fast, I promise."

"Oh, I don't want to take advantage—" Hermione began.

"Nonsense! She will love designing something—and, additionally, zis is a very important event—you must look your best! It will be fun, yes?"

Hermione sighed. When she phrased it like that… "Yes, it will be, I suppose. Thank you, Fleur—I really don't know what I would have done without you."

The veela preened. "Of course, 'Ermione." Then, turning toward Viktor, Fleur called, "Viktor! Dark blue and… gold. Yes, I zink gold will do nicely. Dark blue and gold for your robes, Viktor!"

The Bulgarian nodded and muttered something to Cedric, who laughed. Fleur rolled her eyes.

"Boys," the veela muttered.

Hermione laughed. This felt… nice. Better than nice. Casual, light banter followed for the rest of the evening, and when the champions all departed, they had decided on robes and dances.

Hermione cringed when she saw Ron approaching her and Fleur in the hallway. The veela was walking her to class again, as per usual, but the redhead seemed determined and oblivious to the glares Hermione was shooting his way.

But rather than trying to go after Hermione, he ignored her entirely and turned to Fleur. _Oh no_ , Hermione thought. But she couldn't help the tiny, malicious best inside of her that was gleeful with Ron's humiliation-to-come.

Ron stuttered out something that sounded half like he was asking Fleur out, half that he was simply asking her about her day. The note of desperation underneath his words was music to Hermione's vindictive ears.

And Fleur's response—if one could call it that, since the blonde merely ignored Ron and re-engaged Hermione in conversation—was the absolute highlight of Hermione's day.

The afternoon of the Yule Ball, Luna helped Hermione get ready. Hermione considered herself lucky that Lavender and Parvati were in Padma's rooms getting ready. Fleur was busy in her own rooms with her French friends, and they had agreed to surprise each other, anyways. Neither had seen each other's dress, despite Fleur's seamstress' gushing (according to Fleur) about Hermione's design. But Fleur had handed the package right off, claiming if she held onto it she'd peek.

It really was a beautiful dress. Hermione could hardly believe she was going to wear it in just a few short hours. While Luna was running back to her rooms to get her _own_ dress, Hermione took her own out of its bag to admire.

It was deep, royal blue, just as Fleur had specified. But the seamstress had taken that initial decision and run with it. Now, the dress was strapless and lovely and long, but the real magic of it came from rows of shimmering, glittery strips of gold that fanned out from a tuck above her left hip. It looked like a million shooting stars had swallowed her. Scratch that; Hermione was certain she would _feel_ like a shooting star upon putting on that dress.

Luna re-entered holding a ruffled, purplish-gray mass of fabric, and Hermione admired the blonde girl's dramatic flair, which often seemed to go overlooked by the Hogwarts population. Blue and red, after all, made purple—rather fitting for a Ravenclaw and Gryffindor pairing. Hermione smiled.

Then it was time to get to work.

Luna's wand worked magic on Hermione's hair, and she did a clever, twisted braided crown on the top of Hermione's head that somehow managed to keep each hair in place _without_ bottles of Sleekeazy's, for which Hermione was grateful. Then, Luna repeated the process on herself, with Hermione's help holding hairs in place, though she kept her own work a little lower on her head, looser, airier. It was fitting.

It only took a little while for Hermione to realize that Luna's chatter was born more of nerves than excitement.

"You know, Luna," Hermione said, when a natural break arrived, "Harry's going to be blown away."

Luna blinked. "I hope you don't mean the muggle way," she said. "Bombs don't sound at all like a fun event."

"No, of course not. I just mean… he never stops blushing when he looks at you. It's cute, honestly."

"Do you think… I look like… I fit him?" Luna asked. For once, she seemed completely unsure of herself. Her wide eyes peered at Hermione.

"You fit him more than anyone else possibly could," Hermione said. "He's so… so, red, and you're so blue, and purple is a lovely color, don't you think?" She was rambling now, but realized she couldn't stop. "It's the color of royalty, you know, and power, and wisdom. And you and Harry lend those to each other, right?" She took a breath.

"Purple is a lovely color," Luna said, fingering the layers in her dress. "I always did plant violets in my garden back home."

"Exactly," Hermione said, relieved. She didn't like seeing the blonde girl, who had so quickly become such a good friend, insecure. "Now let me add some of those white flowers—did you call them heliotropes?—to your hair."

"Only if I can do yours!" Luna laughed, her mood effectively lifted.

The flowers, and a couple of light makeup charms later (Hermione was proud to note she did, in fact, know a few those), and the girls were ready. The nervous anticipation in the room was high, but Hermione noticed neither of them were willing to verbalize it, for which she was grateful.

A few minutes before Hermione had to leave—champions had to arrive at half-past, while everyone else got an extra half-hour—she hugged Luna and slipped downstairs. Luna smiled, handed her an extra white flower for safekeeping (Hermione decided she'd give it to Krum), and wished her well.

"Knock his socks off!" Hermione called on her way down the stairs.

"But aren't his socks rather necessary to dance?" A confused Luna replied.

Hermione just laughed kept walking. She took a deep breath, exhaled, and stepped outside the portrait to meet Viktor.


	15. Chapter 15

**This chapter turned out significantly longer than I expected it to. So enjoy this little Yule Ball gift I've written for you all :)**

Viktor audibly gasped when he saw her, a sharp intake of breath.

"Mila… I am luckiest man in the castle right now," he said, dark eyes scanning Hermione's form.

Hermione blushed. "I happen to think I'm rather lucky, myself," she replied. He looked good, too. His overcoat was also blue, just a shade darker than Hermione's dress—and, as per Fleur's orders, also trimmed with delicate gold threading. He must have somehow gotten an exemption from his headmaster, since Hermione was under the impression all the Durmstrang boys would wear matching red dress uniforms. But still, much in the Durmstrang tradition, he had furs, as well, and black boots that ensured his every step was audible and imposing.

Before she could lose her nerve, she reached up and tucked the spare flower Luna had given her behind Viktor's ear.

"Vot is that for?" He asked, mildly confused.

"Now we match!" Hermione smiled, buoyed by the amused look on the Bulgarian's face. "Well, even more than we already do." She briefly thought it was ironic that she was the one giving Viktor flowers, rather than the other way around—but that was a muggle tradition, and one she wasn't sure was relevant in the wizarding world. She still liked the tradition, though. It was nice to make sure a little bit of her muggle culture peeked through.

"Thank you, Herm-own-ninny," Viktor said. "Now shall ve?"

Viktor held out his arm for her to take. Hermione looped her own through his and, grateful the hallways were deserted (everyone was still getting ready in their own rooms, presumably), they made their way to the entrance of the Great Hall. Viktor's steps were steady, unhurried, and Hermione took the opportunity to, delightedly, feel every swish and rustle of her dress.

She realized she felt like a girl. That thought sounded odd, when given words, but it was the truth. In Hogwarts, Hermione was always the "guy's girl," her own femininity getting lost amidst the adventures she had with Harry. Not that she would trade Harry for _anything_ , of course, but it was nice to feel like a prettier, more feminine version of herself. Just for the night, though, of course. Merlin, she'd stab someone if she had to go through this level of preparation for _everything_.

She and Viktor rounded a corner and approached Fleur and Viktor, who looked stunning, as expected. Very much the golden couple, with their gleaming hair—Cedric's artfully combed, and Fleur's in (of course) an elegant French twist. Fleur's dress was a delicate, light blue, with floral embroidery that climbed from the hems to her neckline, and then down the arms of her sleeves. Sheer netting with carefully embedded crystals shifted underneath the flowers. Merlin, she took Hermione's breath away.

Cedric did, too, but in a different way: his black robes remained (probably much to Fleur's frustration, Hermione imagined), but he had conceded to a light blue shirt under his robes, and matching, darker blue bow tie. Standing next to Fleur, it was like their radiance fed off of each other, resulting in a picture Hermione felt she had to squint at to see. But oddly, no feelings of inadequacy appeared, which Hermione half-expected. But she supposed the other champions' kindness coupled with Harry and Luna's constant uplifting words meant that her former insecurity couldn't have remained rooted for long. Now, she imagined, only a truly drastic event could diminish her feelings. What a relief.

"Ready?" Viktor murmured in her ear, just a minute before the doors would open and the champions would lead off the dance. Nobody knew about the champions taking each other as dates, yet, and Hermione was both nervous and excited for the fallout.

"As I'll ever be," Hermione said.

And then the doors opened into a great white wonderland that they stepped forward into. Three tall, proud firs stood behind the orchestra, and gentle—presumably artificial, Hermione's mind couldn't help but supply—snow fell from the enchanted ceiling. It was like something out of a dream.

But before she could truly take it all in, they were already being ushered forward through the rows of students and into the center stage. Hermione desperately wanted to duck and slouch forward, but held her spine straight and chin up. Still, she felt her clasp on Viktor's arm tighten. Her dress swirled around her feet, and just the swish and rustle of it snapped her out of her former shyness.

But only when they made it out onto the floor behind Cedric and Fleur did Hermione's nerves finally melt fully away. She knew dancing, had taken muggle lessons from when she was small, only stopping once she began attending Hogwarts. And Viktor was a delightful partner—though outwardly stoic, he had a lightness to his feet, and a fun sort of grace that set her nerves at ease. He lifted her up for a half moment and Hermione felt her insides flutter at his strong arms holding her up. She blamed these romantic feelings on the general atmosphere of the ball and decided to enjoy the rest of the dance. She did.

The champions all swapped partners after everyone else had joined them on the floor. Hermione danced with Cedric, then Harry, and then, bemusedly, Fleur, who led her through a complicated waltz that Hermione could only _just_ keep up with. Luna joined, too, at some point, leaving Harry to dance with a laughing Fleur to engage Hermione in an airy freestyle form that left Hermione bemused and struggling to keep up. But upon glancing at Harry and Luna later, Hermione found that Harry had no problems joining Luna in her strange form of dance. Seems they really _were_ meant to be.

But Hermione found herself growing tired far quicker than she would have liked. So she excused herself from Luna to go find a glass of water, ignoring the slightly worried glances Fleur, Cedric, and Viktor cast in her direction.

But by the drink table, Hermione was met with a rather unpleasant surprise: her former friend, Ron Weaseley, standing with a frustrated-looked Parvati Patil. Hermione might've felt sorry for the girl if she didn't know for a fact she had attempted several hexes on Hermione the past weeks, and likely had been the one to put those pins on her bed the first night after Hermione was chosen.

Ron's face turned an ugly shade of puce upon seeing her. His dress robe, already rather ridiculous and frilly-looking, was made all the worse by the comical anger he was displaying. Hermione couldn't find it in herself to care.

"Y-you!" He cried. But he stopped, since he didn't appear to have anything more than that to say.

Hermione glanced at him. "Me," she said, unperturbed. "May I get to the water, please?" She asked. She was happy to note Parvati moved out of her way, not meeting her eyes, while Ron stayed put. Looked like the pins she had banished had ended up in Parvati's bed, after all. Message sent and received.

"You couldn't get anyone else to go with you, is that it?" Ron asked. "So you begged the other champions, and they _pitied_ you—"

"They did no such thing," Hermione said, sharply. "It was for each of our mutual benefit."

"What could they want with a swotty, cheating bookworm?" He asked, obviously ignoring Parvati tugging his hand, trying to pull him away.

"Many things." A deep, low voice spoke from behind Hermione. She spun, and saw Viktor standing just behind her. She smiled.

"Viktor," she said.

"Herm-own-ninny. Have you found water yet?" His dark eyes raked over Ron, who was rapidly withering beneath the angry stare.

"I vill talk to you—" he nodded his head toward Ron "—later. But now, mila, vould you like to join me outside?" He gracefully stepped around Ron, snatched up a cup, and took Hermione's hand to lead her away. Hermione gratefully let herself be led.

They stepped outside onto a (thankfully empty) balcony, half-hidden behind thick curtains. Hermione was delighted to see it was snowing outside, too, but shivered immediately after that realization. Viktor, noticing, draped his furs over her should. Hermione wanted to protest, but on second thought, realized he looked far more prepared for the weather than she.

"None of that was true, mila," he said, dark eyes meeting hers.

"I know," Hermione smiled at him, gently. "You wouldn't be here out of pity, I know that."

Viktor seemed to struggle with something for a moment. "Is… more than that," he said.

"I don't understand," Hermione said.

"Ve—I— _like_ you, Herm-own-ninny."

"I know," Hermione said. Now she was confused. Hadn't they established this that first day in the Room of Requirement, when Cedric had said the same thing?"

Viktor briefly looked frustrated. But then, in move that shocked Hermione, he swooped down and claimed her lips for his own. Hermione froze. But after only a moment, she hesitantly, slowly, began to return his kiss. Hermione felt tingles race from her lips to her toes. Her fingers found their way to his short, cropped hair, his neck, his shoulders. Her body couldn't seem to decide.

He broke away, a moment later, a blinding smile on his face. Hermione returned it. She felt rather giddy. He searched her eyes, and, satisfied with whatever he found, loosened his tight grip on her. Not that Hermione had been complaining, of course.

Merlin! Her first kiss, stolen—if she could even call such an act _stealing_ —by Viktor Krum, Triwizard Champion, Quidditch star, Durmstrang student… she flushed. Viktor seemed to notice and a slow, quiet smirk spread across his face.

"Hush, you!" Hermione said, smacking his arm lightly, as they made their way back inside. It was probably almost time for dinner.

"I did not speak," Viktor teased.

"Ugh," Hermione said. But she was still smiling.

They arrived just in time, too, to settle themselves next to their fellow champions at their designated table.

Hermione wondered if this would change the dynamic between them all. If Fleur and Cedric knew—but how could they?—but if they did, and they could tell, and was she feeling guilty? No, surely not. But still, but still…

Hermione pushed her worries aside. No need to ruin a perfectly good feast by stressing before she had even talked to Viktor. She glanced at him, out of the corner of her eye. He seemed to be in a conversation with Cedric, giving no visible indications of what they had just… done.

Hermione talked to Fleur the rest of the meal. The French girl was clearly in her element because she was charming and sparkling and witty and had everyone near them hanging onto her every word.

As soon as desserts were cleared, it seemed they had a couple hours left for dancing and mingling, and the formal orchestra from earlier had been replaced by a modern magical band called The Weird Sisters.

"May I see 'ou outside, 'Ermione?" Fleur asked politely, already standing. Hermione shot a quick glance toward Viktor (he was her date, after all), and upon seeing him still talking with Cedric, agreed and stood up, as well.

Their two dresses made the most delightful swishing and rustling sounds as they moved outside. Hermione practically swooned from the sounds alone. She was always rather auditory, after all. But these sounds… they were simply _decadent_.

"Viktor told me what 'appened earlier, wiz Ron," Fleur said. They both were leaning over the railing comfortably, after Fleur had cast a warming charm on the both of them.

"Oh, yeah… he was, er, just being a prat. It's normal, for Ron," Hermione chuckled. "We used to be friends, but I guess he just couldn't handle everything this year. His jealousy, or insecurity, I don't know which, got the better of him."

"Zat is… sad," Fleur said. "But if 'e is smart, 'e will see what 'e is missing out on." A predatory gleam appeared in the veela's eyes. The blonde turned to face Hermione, whose wide eyes stared back.

Something about this reminded Hermione of Viktor, though she didn't think… did the veela _like_ her in that way, too? Just as she was dismissing that idea as ludicrous ( _really_ , Hermione thought, _one champion kisses you like that and you think everyone is panting after you!_ ), Fleur leaned forward and kissed Hermione, too.

Hermione froze, just like she had with Viktor. But this was different. She had _already_ kissed someone that night, and she was still Viktor's date for the ball. Wasn't this wrong? But without her conscious approval, her lips were already moving against Fleur's. The veela seemed to take this as a sign to continue, and deepened the kiss, pulling Hermione closer to her.

But this was wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong. What would Viktor think? What would Cedric?

Hermione gasped and pulled away. She couldn't meet the veela's eyes.

"I…" she began, but couldn't continue. She felt Fleur's arms loosening, so she pulled away. But when she glanced at Fleur's eyes, she involuntarily saw a deep, deep hurt in them.

"I don't… it's not I don't _like_ you, but I need—"

The hurt was replaced by cautious understanding. "I know," Fleur said, though she still sounded faintly dejected. Hermione hurried away.

She was caught by Cedric on the way out, and she felt like crying. He was not the person she wanted to see! She needed Harry, or Luna. Anyone but him.

"Woah, Hermione, what's happening?" He asked, sounding faintly alarmed.

"I'm sorry, I just—I don't _know_!" She cried, quite aware she wasn't making any sense.

He took one look at her face and began leading her—somewhere, she wasn't sure. As long as she was away from all these people, these staring, hungry students, she'd be happy anywhere.

"Let's get you some fresh air, yeah?" He asked.

Of course. He was leading her to the balcony. The root of all her problems, honestly. But she couldn't very well say _no_ , could she? Call her selfish, but Hermione wasn't ready to explain everything to him yet. She followed, mutely, behind him, having seen Fleur slip out already.

"Now, what's wrong?" The Hufflepuff asked, as soon as they were outside. He, too, cast a hasty warming charm. "It's not Ron, is it? Because I swear, that git…"

"No, it's not Ron," Hermione said.

"Is it Harry? Draco? Pansy?" He began rattling off names, rather comically. "Dumbledore? Snape? Oh, Merlin, _You-Know-Who_?"

He wasn't trying to make her laugh, Hermione knew, but somehow he did.

Cedric looked confused. "Hermione…?" He asked.

"No, I'm sorry," she struggled out, "it's not anything like that. I've just—" the comparison to Voldemort lightened her mood, made her kisses with the other champions seem not so serious "—I've had some strange encounters, and I don't want to hurt anyone, and—"

Cedric's eyes flickered with understanding. Hermione noticed, and immediately felt guilty. He must know, then! Sure, he wasn't _Voldemort_ , but this was still scary she still didn't want to hurt him.

"Cedric, I'm so sorry—" she began.

But she was cut off. "Just shut up," Cedric said, "and accept this, alright?"

He was gentle, and guided his head down to Hermione's to reach her lips. He moved slowly, as if he was afraid of spooking her, but when Hermione didn't pull away, he seemed to grow more confident, pulling her closer.

Hermione felt like something else was inhabiting her body. Is this what out-of-body experiences were like? It was like she had no control. She met Cedric's lips eagerly, for just a moment, and he grinned into the kiss. Her fingers clenched around his robes.

But Fleur. And Viktor. She was returning these kisses, leading them on. She couldn't do this to them—to, to anyone! It was _wrong_.

Hermione pulled away. Cedric looked momentarily confused, his hair mussed, his robe slightly askew. Hermione could only imagine she looked much, much worse. She felt worse. She felt like… like, a slag. A whore. Merlin. What was she doing?

"I'm sorry, but—I have to go. I have to go. Now." She gasped out, before spinning and running back inside.

"Hermione!" Cedric called behind her, but she ignored him.

She couldn't face him right now. Couldn't face any of them. So she ran and ran until she made it back to the Gryffindor common room, and then her room, and then she cried and cried.


	16. Chapter 16

Hermione kept her head down at the Gryffindor table the next morning. She slunk into the hall for breakfast behind Harry, and when Harry just shot her a confused look, she just said she'd tell him later.

She felt… Merlin, she didn't know how she felt. A few hours of rest had given her a little more perspective—after all, she wasn't _exclusive_ with anyone, hadn't even been more than a date of convenience for Viktor, but the whole situation still felt wrong. And it had introduced a slew of complications that she wasn't _ready_ to even begin dissecting yet. She had to figure out her feelings, first. Then the other champion's feelings. And then, finally, a plan of action. Yes. That's what she would do.

Her musings were broken by a flurry of owls entering the Great Hall, dropping papers and letters into students' laps. Hermione herself refused on principle to subscribe to The Daily Prophet, and since she rarely received any letters, was unsurprised to find no owls headed her way.

Harry, though, received the paper (and a weekly Quibbler edition, courtesy of Luna), and only scanned the paper for a moment before tossing it down. His eyes were dark and angry.

"Hermione," he said, then stopped.

"Harry?"

"You… you might want to look at this." And then he pushed the paper towards her.

Hermione only managed to scan the headline before she felt sick. _Hermione Granger: Witch, Champion, Seductress?_ it read. A large picture below featured Hermione and Krum in a gentle twirl, both of them smiling. But a few lines in and she wanted to retch. The reporter, Rita Skeeter (Hermione had a vague memory of her buzzing around the first task, like some kind of annoying bug—Hermione had refused all interviews) somehow had found out Hermione had kissed _all three_ of the champions last night. She had managed to paint Hermione as a seductress, a femme fatale, a slag—oh, she couldn't read any more. Hermione pushed the paper away.

"Is it true?" Harry whispered. Hermione bristled at his words, but softened at his tone. He meant well.

"Not—not the seducing part. I wouldn't, you know that. But the rest… the kissing. Yes, that happened."

Harry's eyes were wide. "Merlin, Hermione," he said. "This isn't—this isn't good. Everyone's going to be worse, you know."

"I know," she said, miserably. But what could she do? It would be easy to deny if it was all lies, but this _wasn't_. It was true, and amplified all the fears Hermione already had. She couldn't even defend herself, not against this.

"Just tell me what to do," he said, almost desperately. "Me and Luna, we'll help—we can keep them away."

"Thanks, Harry—I think that's all you _can_ do, right now," Hermione said. She truly did mean it—she was lucky to have such a loyal friend. "Ready to go and face the masses?"

Harry stood up, and Hermione followed. The noise in the Great Hall seemed to grow louder with every breath, with every rustle of the paper.

"Shall we?" Harry asked. Hermione nodded and straightened her spine. Too slowly (because nothing could be fast enough, truly), they made their way out of the hall. Hermione couldn't bring herself to meet the eyes of her fellow champions, who were undoubtedly looking at her. Oh, Merlin, they knew, and she didn't even have a chance to explain herself! She felt horrible—even worse than before.

The rest of the day was a nightmare, honestly. Maybe even worse than that awful first day her name was pulled out of the goblet. Now, Hermione knew, she wasn't just a lying, cheating mudblood—she was also a seductress, a scarlet woman, a slag. Stealing the public's precious champions away, ruining them with her dirty blood and lying lips.

The few students who had been neutral rather than antagonistic were now firmly part of the anti-Hermione battalion. And that included, unfortunately, many of the foreign students that Hermione suspected Fleur and Viktor had persuaded to remain neutral, if not supportive.

But, somehow, she managed to brush off the sneered words and muttered insults. The hexes and jinxes were managed by Harry with his deft shield, and Hermione, too, when she caught them. Loneliness, unfortunately, wasn't a new feeling for her, and although her classmates' alienation stung, her own inner conflict was much, much worse than anything anyone else could say to her.

Hermione fought to keep her face neutral and her body upright and confident-looking. But by lunch, she was already exhausted. Harry, loyally by her side, had the same bedraggled, mildly haggard look about him—Hermione was certain she looked even worse than him.

Luna joined their end of the table, which was nice. They fell into an argument about the methods of hunting bowtruckles while Harry pretended he wasn't just staring dreamily at Luna the entire time. Hermione found it amusing.

The prickling on the back of her neck, though, told her something was wrong. Surreptitiously, Hermione swivelled to scan the hall—and found a blonde French veela staring holes into her. Hermione tried to glance away, but almost felt as though she was stuck. But then, Fleur broke eye contact to nod her head delicately to the door before standing up.

Hermione glanced around. No one had seen—good. She decided to give Fleur a two-minute head start before following. Quickly muttering her plan to Harry, and telling him when to start looking for her if she didn't arrive back in the common room, Hermione stood and followed.

Fleur was leaning against the wall just outside the Great Hall.

"Can we talk?" Fleur asked.

Hermione looked at her. Though the French girl looked as pristine as she always did, there was something vaguely… ruffled about her appearance. Hermione nodded.

"Follow me," Fleur said. "Ze boys will join us in ze Room of Requirement."

Hermione swallowed the ball of dread that rapidly appeared in her throat. She felt like she couldn't speak. Fear or anticipation or dread or something else; she wasn't entirely sure what she was feeling. But she followed Fleur anyways.

They sat in silence in the blue room for a couple of minutes before the boys joined them. Both Cedric and Viktor looked somber, and had the same ruffled air about them as Fleur.

"So—" Hermione began, only to stop when Cedric said the exact same thing.

Cedric laughed, but it didn't diffuse the tense atmosphere.

"I don't know how to go about this," Hermione began.

"Vot?" Viktor asked. "Vot do you not know?"

"This… all of this. You all—you all _kissed_ me, for Merlin's sake!" Hermione cried, forcing her fears to the side. Best just to attack the problem head-on, like a Gryffindor. "I don't know—did you all _know_ about each other? Are you _okay_ with this?"

"We knew," Fleur said, gently.

"You… knew?" Hermione asked. For some reason she wasn't expecting that answer.

"Hermione," Cedric said, looking her right in the eyes, "we've been in a relationship for a little while now. All three of us. And we all knew we liked you, too, and wanted you to join."

Fleur and Viktor looked at Cedric, wide-eyed. Hermione supposed they hadn't expected him to be so blunt about it.

Seeing their looks, Cedric shrugged. "What?" He asked. "She's a Gryffindor."

"Is it true?" Hermione asked, her mind in a whirlwind. "You both, you both…" She turned toward Fleur and Cedric.

"It is true," Fleur said.

"Da. True for me, as well." Viktor said.

"So you all… you're in a relationship? With each other? And you want me to be a part of this relationship, too? And that's why you each kissed me at the Yule Ball?" Hermione asked.

"Well, it wasn't exactly planned," Cedric said, somewhat abashed. His hand rose and scratched the back of his neck. "But when Viktor, here, took you outside, we knew something was up—"

"And we did not mean to bombard 'ou, 'onestly," Fleur said. "But ze opportunity was zere—"

"Ve should have told you first," Viktor said. "But it was the right moment, and—"

"We just really, really like you, Hermione," Cedric said. "And we wanted to ease you into the idea of being with all of us—"

"By starting as friends," Viktor said. "Because ve knew you vere not terrible like the papers said—"

"And after we, 'ow do 'ou say, got over our resentment for your entrance into ze tournament," Fleur added.

"That was when we realized how strong you were, and brave," Cedric said.

"—And beautiful, and kind—" Fleur cut in.

"—And clever." Viktor finished.

They all took a breath. Silence. For the first time since Hermione got in the room, it seemed like. She remained frozen, expressionless, in her seat. _Oh. It seems they're all waiting for me_ , she thought, rather numbly.

"I… you…" Hermione began. She paused again to collect her thoughts. Each of the three other champions were facing her, leaning forward in their blue chairs, in their blue room. Hermione swallowed.

"I can't do this," she said. As soon as she said the words, she knew it was the right choice. She ignored Fleur's sharp inhale and Cedric's wide eyes and Viktor's burning gaze.

"You all—you manipulated me and took control of the situation because you thought it would get you what you wanted. But you didn't think of how it might hurt _me_! I spent all of last night and this morning thinking I was a, a _slag_ for kissing not one, but three people who I care about last night! And now the papers are calling me a seductress, and your friends are hexing me in the hallways, and—"

"Ve vill put a stop to that," Viktor said, a stormy look on his face.

"That's not the point!" Hermione cried. "You didn't think about my feelings in all of this, and I'm just tired of not knowing where I stand with all of you!"

"But 'ou know now, yes?" Fleur asked.

"Yes," Hermione paused. "Yes, I know now. But I can't—I'm sorry—I can't _do_ this right now. And I can't do it with _you_. Not with everything else. I'm sorry. I—I should go. Please, I just need space right now."

"You don't have to—" Cedric began.

But Hermione already had one foot out the door and realized that if she looked back, she wouldn't be able to leave.

She didn't look back. She left.


	17. Chapter 17

They left her alone, just as Hermione had requested.

The next two weeks passed in a bit of a haze, if she were being honest with herself. Harry was loyally by her side, as she knew he would be. And Luna, too, become more of a fixture around the Gryffindor table, and sometimes she and Harry even joined the Ravenclaws—though Hermione made certain to stay far away from the Beauxbatons students whenever she was over.

The Beauxbatons students weren't being nasty, anymore, which was a blessing, but Hermione remembered their treatment of her. But she mostly just wanted to remain separated from Fleur, who, like the others, occasionally shot her looks but remained distant, as promised.

Hermione missed the other champions, but not enough she that she was willing to return to them yet. They kept things from her, important things, and if there was one thing Hermione couldn't stand, it was the keeping of knowledge from her. The deliberate misinformation. The hidden ignorance. There was nothing worse than one person—or three people—having all the answers, and another having nothing.

So, no. She hadn't quite forgiven them yet. Rather, she had tried to understand, to find the knowledge they had kept (deliberately or not) from her.

A couple surreptitious notes with book titles from Cedric, an old text from Viktor left out on her table, a (dubiously acquired, Hermione was certain) pass to the restricted section from Fleur… Hermione appreciated that they were helping her now, even if it felt a couple weeks too late.

So she researched. Buried herself in the library, just as everyone who knew her knew she would.

Harry and Luna came to check on her, of course, and the conversations usually went approximately as follows:

"Hey, 'Mione, you doing alright?"

"Yes, of course, Harry."

"The gifflers have begun hiding in your hair again, Hermione."

"I'll brush them out later."

"Need anything? Food? Water? Breathable air?"

"Very funny, Harry."

"Can we do anything? I can make you a charm, if you'd like, for the gifflers."

"I think I'm alright, but thank you, Luna."

"I'll bring it by tomorrow."

"Thanks, Luna."

And then Hermione would promptly bury herself back in her stacks. Though the others might not know it, she actually was researching not just polyamorous customs in the wizarding world, but also a plan for the second task, and, though she had put it off for long enough, she needed to figure out who had put her name in the goblet.

On the first part of her research, she was nearly finished, particularly thanks to her champions' help, though she wouldn't admit it. Polyamory in the wizarding world was actually far more accepted than in the muggle world. Though not common, exactly, it certainly wasn't forbidden or even particularly controversial. But there was no reason for it to be an uncommon practice—merely, Hermione supposed, that it took far more effort and coordination than any two-person relationship.

Though this didn't excuse her fellow champions' actions, it actually explained some of their thought-process. As three purebloods, they probably would have assumed (rather naively) that Hermione was just as comfortable as them with polyamory. Just as aware of it as a viable kind of relationship. Had she been, she might have picked up on some of their cues earlier—but, naturally, since she was not, nothing registered. A classic case of confirmation bias coupled with ignorance.

As for the second part of her research—planning for the second task—Hermione felt she was coming along nicely. Though it would have been nice to run some of her ideas by Viktor, Cedric, and Fleur, she was confident enough in her own abilities to complete the task on her own. She didn't _need_ them. If she were to— _Merlin, she couldn't believe she was even considering it_ —enter a relationship with them, she needed to be able to stand on her own.

For the second task, she knew water was the problem. And what do you do with water? Either breathe it, or avoid it. Breathing it was too difficult—transfiguring gills required transfiguring all the necessary parts and pieces that attached to them, and frankly, after a day of studying fish, Hermione had tossed that idea into the bin. She heard that gillyweed was an option, but that would leave her clumsy and she didn't know where to get any, besides—it was far too expensive for her. She briefly considered using polyjuice with a fish scale to replicate what happened to her second year with the cat hair, but that was unpredictable and frankly, embarrassing.

So avoiding the water it was. How to avoid water? The bubblehead charm was the obvious solution, but that made her nervous—it did nothing to protect her once in the water and if it failed, she would certainly drown. It would be nice if she could just _banish_ all the water from the lake, but that was dangerous to the creatures in it and would take an extraordinary amount of power, besides.

And that was when Hermione hit upon a fantastic idea. She skidded into the common room, startling Harry and Luna, who were sitting by the fireplace.

"Harry," she said, breathless, "I've got it!"

"What do you have?" He asked, mildly bemused.

"The lake—the water—I have to get rid of it, and protect myself in the process. I'll create a vacuum, a pocket, just like in the last task—but of air!"

"A vortex," Luna murmured, dreamily.

"Exactly!" Hermione cried. " I just need a powerful enough blasting curse, and then a locking charm, and then some kind of physical ward to keep the water out of my way, and I'll have it!"

"But how will you know where the item you need is?" Harry asked.

"Just a quick point-me charm should do it," Hermione said.

But then she frowned. This all sounded incredibly dangerous.

Oh, who was she kidding. At this point, danger was inevitable.

The next day at breakfast, Hermione stumbled into the Great Hall. Her hair was atrocious, but she could hardly bring herself to care. She had a plan, which was more than could be said for the day previous. Count the little things.

It was early, still—only a few bickering Ravenclaws were up, and two lone Slytherins poking at their bowls. Standard, in other words. Hermione sighed contentedly. Mornings like this were one of her favorite times of the day, right after the late evening, right before she went to bed. That was when she did all of her pleasure reading.

So she almost didn't notice when an owl swooped down in front of her. Usually they were Harry's, since he had the most people sending him letters. But this one was clearly for her, considering no other students had joined her yet at the Gryffindor table. It was a beautiful tawny creature, with wildly outsized talons—seriously, it was like the clown equivalent of an owl—a clowl?—perched a little comically next to her. It stuck out one enormous talon imperiously, and Hermione snorted, but took the letter attached to it anyways. After checking it for hexes, the owl flew off, and Hermione was left alone to open it in peace.

The parchment was small, but clean and white. In small, cursive handwriting, Hermione read _please accept this as the initiation of our courting_.

Before she had time to blink (or scowl), a second owl arrived, dark and imposing, in an a rapid dive. In its claws was a cluster of ranunculus, pink and fluttering. As soon as the flowers dropped from its talons, the owl did a low dive and spun around with a beat of its powerful wings.

A third owl, which Hermione was less surprised at, fluttered in, spotted with black-tipped wings. By now, Hermione had caught on to the pattern. Her heart was beating madly in her chest. She didn't know what to think. She had asked them to give her space, and they did, just as they promised… but she had thought they'd lost interest. They'd taken her rejection at face value and decided to find some other smart witch to join them. Those thoughts stung, but she'd been pushing them away long enough by now she could almost pretend it was alright.

Well. They clearly hadn't. Hermione tried to tell the organ in her chest to stop moving so damn fast, but it wasn't listening.

The third owl carried a small parcel in its talons, which it, too, dropped into her lap just before spinning and leaving. With shaking hands, Hermione opened it, grateful there weren't more students around to make this any more awkward. Soon, they'd start to trickle in. She'd have to hurry.

Inside the parcel was a thin, glittering bracelet. White-gold in color, it was just a simple band—until she saw four small stones set in its rim. Light blue, dark blue, white-silver, and amber-gold. Like the Yule Ball. Hermione sighed wistfully as memories of that night swirled around her. Just as the bracelet intended to do, no doubt. Still, it was… so much. A beautiful piece of jewelry, just to begin a courtship? What did that even mean?

Hermione hastily gathered her things just as she saw a few heads begin to push through the doors. It seemed another trip to the library was in order.


End file.
